A stop by to Russia
by Writer Mione
Summary: Since a ticket to Russian Federation costs more than a thousand dollars, I'll visit Russia travelling inside my mind… Who's going with me?
1. Prologue

There I was, bright and beautiful, and miraculously, I had nothing to do. I say "miraculously" considering that, lately, the burden of school tasks uses to smash me. After all, bright and beautiful, as I was telling, I decided to go and watch Hetalia. What a dear creature, that little man shouting "Pastaaaa!" with his eyes more closed than Nihon's. England, pedantic, but a good guy. And of course, the cutest of all, my Russia… (blowing up cursed chairs since 1940 and a few).

He's a tyrant, but so irresistible… I bet he only needs someone who will like him and find a way to take that purple cloud out of his face.

The playlist ended, and I let me be daydreaming on this topic for a moment. I bet I could put little Russie back on track. I even know how to speak (a little of) his language. Let me enter your heart and make a stand, peace bread and land[1]… Blimey, it looks like a song by One direction, just a bit more intelligent. I better stop it.

My eyes were blunted, for the time I've spent staring at the PC, so I closed them for a second…

* * *

[1] "Peace, bread and land" was the motto of Russian Revolution, in 1917. They wanted to go out of 1st WW and wanted food and land for the workers.


	2. Steppe Eagles

Ploft! – That was the deaf noise I made, when I fell on my back in the middle of a lot of golden grass. Probably dry, but soft. It was tall grass, so that I sat, and even so I couldn't find out where I was. I had to stand up, and I looked around. Hopeless: more and more golden grass everywhere. In spite of all, it was a beautiful sight. But the sun was not so high in the sky anymore, and according to my great experience from the movies, even if the hero sees something in the horizon, he will only get there in the end of the day. Just imagine if I can't see anything!... What? Yes, 'course I was… am… the heroin.

I gave a sigh and started to walk. You can skip, well, about four hours, in which I only walked. In the end it wasn't so bad; the place was fresh and good-smelling. But at nightfall, a cold wind started to blow from anywhere, and I wrapped myself better in the jacket, crazy to find even a cave for a shelter. Preferentially, without bats; what if one of them becomes Edward Cullen and then I'll be forced to runaway.

In the Very Moment when I was starting to despair, some guys in horses passed by. Handsome ones, except for the long moustaches, 'course. Strong men, in very heavy coats, and with astrakhan caps and sabers pending from their belts. They passed rushing in a gallop beside me – that was good, because I had an excuse to smooth my hair. Then I called out.

– Hey, Cossack!

The last man in the row looked to me, staring in a grim manner. A beautiful pair of green eyes, he had. I don't know if he sympathized with me, but anyhow he stopped, and let out sort of a battle cry that made the others stop, too. Within seconds, their ataman came from the front , and addressed me some words.

– Yes? – he spoke, distrustful. He was an old, fat man, but still in shape.

– Hi, sir… Well… Could you tell me which way I'll find a village or a town? And, rather, where I am…

– But what does a girl do here alone at this hour? – the man said, in a bass voice, instead of answering me. – Where did you come from?

– I also don't know – I replied, sincerely.

– Better so! – a dangerous dude came, drawing closer to me with a lupine smile that totally displeased me. I had shivers. For all I knew about the Cossacks, they were not exactly _safe _and _balanced_ people. Or good guys. For my relief, the chieftain stretched his arm, blocking his mate's action.

– This girl asked for our help, you twerp, and we are going to help. Save your instincts for the battles. Roman! – he called.

From the front row, a youngster came in a trot. Twenty and a few years, maybe. His face was pale, with gray eyes. There was a long black tress, but no moustache. He didn't look exactly nice, but also didn't make me afraid. For his different props, I wondered he was probably the son of the chief. The ataman ordered the boy to carry me. Without a word of objection, he helped me to climb in the horse's back. And we galloped.

After I got used to the dizzying pace of the race, and succeeded in controlling the sick feeling of seeing the golden plants rushing beside me, I decided to try and talk with the boy.

– Where am I? –I started. Yeah, I'm not really subtle. And I really wanted to know it, although I had already formed my hypothesis…

– Russia – the young man answered, monosyllabic.

"Yes!", I cried inside myself, happy.

– And where are you going to?

– Don – he retorted. Yes, I had heard about the Cossacks of Don. They were sort of pirates of the river (Don), quite feared. That river seemed to be the best place for the… "Cossackry". I won't say piracy, because it was not exactly the same thing. The Cossacks were more like a kinky mix of soldiers-bandits-gipsies-singers-pirates.

It could be interesting to spend a little time with them, if it wasn't dangerous; and furthermore, I had my own plans. Since I was in Russia's house – in that moment, precisely, I was in his immense garden – I wanted to see Russia himself. He and his cruel sweetness.

– Do you know where Russia lives? – I asked.

– What are you talking about, girl? – the junior ataman said, almost harshly. After that he laughed, in an ironical but nicer way. – I think you're raving. Take a nap.

I was not sleepy, but I took that for an excuse to lean against him. I felt that he got a little startled; sat uptight, but said nothing. He was cute and fluffy, especially with that coat, and I ended up sleeping, after all.

I woke up with the deep voices of the Cossacks, intonating a song.

**At the early dawning, 'cross the rolling hillside  
Legionnaires of Russia rode their shining, stoic steed  
Horses fell to bullets, heroes pierced and rended  
Stormy river runs red as a thousand soldiers bleed.**

**Lovely, brothers, lovely, lovely 'tis to live.  
With our brave lieutenant, who has time or will to grieve?**

It was a beautiful song, and sung by those men, well, it would make you feel power, wildness and freedom. Like a bird of prey. And that's what the Cossacks were; flying in their horses, true eagles of the steppe. I continued listening to them, and peaked over the shoulder of my rider, to see how we were going. It was black night. In the distance, we could see bonfires. The weather was even fresher. Within fifteen minutes, we would reach their encampment. The men were still singing, finishing the song.

**And my raven tresses, my alabaster face  
All will shrivel, crumble, feed the grass that takes their place.  
And the eyes that shot sharp, bold heart ripped apart  
Falcons, crows, hyenas will devour all that's there.**

**Lovely, brothers, lovely, lovely 'tis to live.  
With our brave lieutenant who has time or will to grieve?**

And, soon after, we got to the camping. The Cossacks were received by their fellows, and by some women, the wives of some of them, I guess. There was even a girl that didn't seem pleased when she saw me on the rump of the chief' son's horse.

As my bottom was stiff, I decided to walk to stretch my legs. There was a small elevation, to the left of the camping. I climbed it to look around, the landscape was so beautiful. And, fairly far away, I saw a mansion. Its aspect wasn't exactly familiar but, instinctively, I knew what it was: Russia's house.

The sleep vanished in a moment. Immediately, I started marching up to there. I cried "Spasibo!" to the Cossacks – nonetheless, they were hospitable, and would possibly invite me to spend the night there. But I didn't want it. "I'll meet Russia,I'll meet Russia…", I kept thinking, with eyes as bright as a (fake) vampire. And I marched on.


	3. The Visitor

Morning came, and I was still walking, or better, nearly creeping, surrounded by thousands of beauteous sunflowers. The smell was heady; it messed with my empty stomach. As I came near the house, I could perceive that, partially disguised in the windows, the roof and the garden, there were several weapons of high power. There was even a very suspect skylight, pretty large, which could perfectly let out a missile. I started to step a little more carefully, but always forward. I had gone so far; it wouldn't be a ballistic missile that would stop me now.

In one of the highest rooms of the mansion, there was movement…

– Who is that creature crossing our garden? – The soft voice of Russia made the little Latvia to jump. He had been cleaning the dust from the shelves of the immense library, and turned on his heels to look at the master. Russia had laid upon his knees the book he had been reading, and now was looking out through the window, puzzled.

– Do you want me to activate the traps, sir? – asked Latvia, reaching out his hand to the deadly buttons.

– No… – Russia answered. – See how odd: she's not armed – he continued, still puzzled.

– No army with her?

– As far as my eye can see, no.

It was really a unique happening. Gathering courage, Latvia approached the window too. There was a girl among the sunflowers.

– I think she's not a European nation, sir – the tiny boy gave his opinion. – Her skin is not as light as ours.

– Where could she come from, then?

– Near East, maybe.

– No guns? Don't be ridiculous, Latvia. Moreover, she's not _that_ tanned.

– She's coming, sir. Do you think I really shouldn't activate the traps? – he asked again, trembling, because if this person dared to enter like that in Russia's territory, she was either crazy or stronger than him; in any case, Latvia didn't want to meet her.

Russia was thinking the same. However, as he didn't believe in the existence of someone stronger than him, he was not scared, just curious.

– No, as I told you – he replied, patiently. – On the contrary; go and welcome her rightly. Show all of our hospitality…

As a purple cloud was starting to grow in front of his master's face, Latvia rushed away.

Puff, puff! At last I reached the door. It was made of mahogany, really tall and wide. I was almost had no forces to lift the knocker, but I didn't actually knocked, for in this very moment Lithuania opened the door for me. His inseparable fellows, Estonia and Latvia, were behind him.

– Welcome, stranger – he greeted.

– Hi – I replied, smiling at the trembling trio.

Estonia walked around me, checking quietly if, in fact, I had no pistol or dagger. Lithuania said:

– Do you need something, milady? A glass of water, maybe? – Latvia handed me one. – Or do you prefer going immediately to see Mr. Russia? He's looking forward to meet you.

– Alright – I agreed, simulating indifference and giving the glass back to him. Surely, I was vibrating inside.

I followed the Baltic trio by four flights of stairs. The house was huge and beautiful, but I did not notice much in it; in the worst case, I'd have time to take a better look when going away. Russia was curious to meet me? I was even more. The door of the library opened, and I took sight of him, sat across the room, which was covered by shelves to an unreachable height. So many books were even able to take my mind off him for a moment. But then he greeted me.

– Hello.

– _ Zdravstvuite!_ – I said, in his language, trying to be nice. – _Priyatno poznakomitsya_[1].

– _ Priyatno tozhe poznakomitsya_[2] – he replied, surprised. – Who are you?

– My name is Erika – I answered, deciding not to add "I'm your fan!". I didn't want to look frenzied.

– Erika – he thought for a moment. – It sounds nice, but I don't know any country with this name. Did you get your independence very lately? – I laughed.

– I'm not a country. I am… Brazil's daughter – that was the best answer I could think of.

– Oh, a human. But Brazil is very far! – he raised his eyebrows. – What are you doing here, in the opposite side of the world? – he added, trying to print the maximum courtesy to this rude question.

– I came to visit you – I shrugged.

He sat there with a poker face. I'm sure he didn't know how to respond to this. The he stood up and reached me his hand, which I shook. My God, how tall he was! He should be more than … tall. As it was summer, he didn't wear a coat, but a t-shirt, and we could see that he was also strong, although not ostensibly brawny. Recovering his spirits, he said:

– _Nu, dobro pojalovat'_![3] I won't ask more questions now. You look tired. Latvia and Lithuania are going to provide you a meal and a bedroom. Make yourself at home, daughter of Brazil. If you can.

He gave a nice smile and sat again, grabbing his book. I followed Lithuania. The word 'meal' had fired a revolution in my stomach, which was now protesting for peace, bread and land. Well, not land. We went down the stairs to the kitchen, which were located in the first basement.

Two men of uncommon aspect were there. One of them was wearing dark blue pants, a forest-green waistcoat upon a white shirt, and a red beret. He was bald and had a single eyebrow. The other man dressed a sort of greenish-blue gown embroidered with golden coils, and a strange hat with the same color and same prints. His eyes were slanted. They were Azerbaijan (the bald) and Kazakhstan. I tried to start a conversation with them, but they were too involved in argument they were having. After I came to know that all the –khstans worked in Russia's house, most of them in the kitchen. He had a lot of other subordinates; the Baltic trio only took care of the administrative affairs.

I had a substantial meal with roasted lamb, black bread and soup, everything watered with black tea. After that, I followed Latvia and Lithuania up to a giant and luxurious bedroom with a large bed whose bedposts had golden tops shaped like a two-headed eagle. Latvia gave me a nightdress – in fact, it wouldn't be pleasant to sleep in jeans – and, while I changed clothes in the dressing room next to it, he fluffed the blankets and closed the heavy curtains.

– It's a beautiful day out there – I commented. – If I wasn't so tired, I'd linger still a while in the middle of the sunflowers.

So much silence surrounding my arrival was bothering me, and I wanted to chat with someone. Lithuania looked at me, with a mix of fear and commiseration in his eyes.

– You'll have plenty opportunities to do it – he said. "Now that you entered in here, you shall not leave, even if you want", he completed, inside his mind. "Foolish girl".

– Lithuania, say to her… – Latvia spoke, glancing nervously at his fellow.

– Right. You see, we do not live here anymore – he said. – We only stay here in daytime, to take care of Mr. Russia's affairs. At night, we go to our own houses. Only Chechnya, the gardener, lives here, in the west wing of the property, but avoid searching for her, unless it's too urgent. Let's say she is… a little… inflammable. Mr. Russia would have quit her if he didn't need her; they hate themselves and she even came to the point of giving him some scars. I'm saying this so that you must not to get up until we come back tomorrow. We'll leave something in a tray on the chest of drawers in case you get hungry. You know, it's really not wise to walk around when only Mr. Russia is in the house.

– Huh, but he does not sleep at night? – I asked, halfway through a yawn, lying on the pillows. – He's got insomnia?

– He sleeps, but not in the white nights. In these days, he becomes particularly strange.

– White nights… – I mumbled. The name sounded familiar to me, but the sleep didn't allow me to recall what it was. – Good night, Lithuania. Good night, Latvia – I yawned again, closing my eyes.

– Sleep well, miss – they said, in unison, with a trace of pity in their voices.

* * *

[1] Hello! Nice to meet you.

[2] Nice to meet you too

[3] Well, welcome!


	4. White Nights

I slept a lot. I must have gone to bed around midday; when I awoke, it was still sunlight outside, as you could perceive by the halo of light surrounding the curtain. However, the clock showed 20:17. I shook my head; white nights. Of course, St. Petersburg's white nights, when there was only about four hours without sun. What had Lithuania said about that? Oh, that Russia wouldn't sleep in those nights. Well, it would be difficult, with clarity.

In spite of the Baltic's advice, I decided that it couldn't be such a bad idea to walk by the chateau at this hour. It was a phenomenon I had never seen. You can't say to one "The aurora borealis is taking place outside, but you may not go there and watch it". It was another phenomenon, but the idea was the same. I didn't even think of opening the curtains. I approached the chest of drawers, where there really was a delicious snack of bread with honey and a glass of milk. I washed my mouth in a basin with a jar of water that was beside the bad and, as I didn't find my clothes in the next room – they probably took them to cleaning – I picked up a woolen robe nearby and went out to the corridor.

Walking slowly, this time I paid attention to the house. It was very large, all the rooms were wide and high, and the corridors looked like streets. On the walls, there were French paintings, portraits of czars and princes, statues of the communist leaders, a room full of icons[1], now and then shelves with books or war trophies – richly wrought cups, serving sets, etc. There was even a totally empty room, whose walls were patterned like the sunflowers' fields outside. Not all the chambers were decorated or comfortable; several of them were made of wood and in its inside, they were similar to a poor _isba__**[2]**_ of the Russian villages. There were fireplaces of various sizes, in almost every room, and most surely I had gotten lost after the first five minutes. If I already get lost in a three roomed house!

I found other rooms with beds, if I wanted to come back to sleep. In fact, the most impressive about that house is how _empty_ it seemed. During the day it wasn't like that, because of all of those countries passing by, but in that hour the place was so lonesome. For a moment, I understood why Russia kept dragging everybody by force to there: he just wanted company.

Almost at this time, when I opened a door, I encountered him. He was in a room that could be taken by a library, or a pub, because one of the walls was covered with shelves, and the other, by a glass cabinet with nearly every kind of drink. Opposite to the door there was a balcony, and Russia sat facing the open glass door. In that hour, the sun was not so high, and Russia's shadow extended over the carpeted floor. The maroon wallpaper had a pattern that harmonized with the elegant red chairs.

– Sleepless too, Miss? – Russia asked me in low voice, and I had a little shock. In the space between the two doors of the terrace, there was an oblique mirror, and his eyes were reflected there, staring at me. I closed the door carefully and slipped to the chair beside him.

– Truly, not – I answered. – I already slept too much.

– And this light is not helping – he replied, with a nice smile.

– Well, it's not so strong – I shrugged. And he glanced sideways at me.

– Of course, you came from Brazil. There where is sun and party every time. Carnival must be interesting – he said, trying to be nice. I rolled up my eyes.

– I hate Carnival – I said, matter-of-factly.

– But it seems to be so… joyful.

– It's idiot.

– You know best.

Silence. He sighed. The he said, in sort of a defensive way.

– You know, it may not sound like, but there are joyful parties here too.

– I believe it – I answered, underlining it with a smile. He glanced at me again, looking puzzled.

– What you really came to do here, Miss Erika?

– I told you. I came to see you.

– Why? – he asked, distrustful. – Do you have any message from your country? They want to sell soy; buy iron, maybe?

– No. I didn't come in an official mission. I came because I like you.

– _Why?_ – it's hard to reproduce all his perplexity when doing this question.

– Answering to this is complicated. I read stories about you, I got curious, searched for more… and ended up liking.

He was looking at me. Again, it was hard to guess what he was thinking.

– My name is Ivan.

– What?

– I want you to call me by my human name… Ivan Braginsky.

– Right… Ivan.

– Do you want wine? – he asked. Just now I perceived that he was holding a cup. Beyond him there was a small table, with a green bottle on it.

– No, thank you. I'm not a great fan of alcohol.

Ivan helped himself to more wine.

– Are you afraid of me? – he asked next, bibbing the cup and staring outside at the horizon.

– Generally, not. But…

– But…?

I hesitated. Would I attract troubles towards Lithuania if I told what he had said to me? The poor guy was already so scared; I didn't want him to get hurt.

– Well… someone said me… that you, Si… you get a little strange in these white nights.

– It's because I get depressive – he answered, after a moment. – It doesn't happen always, but somehow often. Then I wonder… about the things in my past, ugly or that bring nostalgia. Sometimes I only write poems; sometimes I do stupid things. Sorrow is not a pleasant emotion or safe. I reckon they're right in worrying – he turned to me with a smile. Obviously he knew who had told me that. – Not to mention the bad mood in a person that didn't sleep well.

– So sleep – I exclaimed.

– And who watches? – he replied, in a sort of a disdainful voice. – There's light outside; they could come and attack me. Without General Winter, they always dare. My men fight bravely, but in an unorganized manner.

– I watch – I thought that it was the only thing I could say.

– Really? – his eyes widened, surprised; then, a large thankful smile and a distrustful scowl ensued on his face. – If they attack me, I'll finish them, and after I'll finish you – he said, in the most polite and natural tone. I swallowed hard.

Without another word, he stood up and went to the shadiest corner of the room. He stretched himself in a divan, covering his eyes with one of the arms. I also stood up, and closed the curtain in that side of the room. When I thought he had already fallen asleep, I drew near to the divan and sat in the carpet, beside him, observing him. Gathering courage, I patted that light straight hair that could get messed with a whiff.

– Erika? – he called, in a choked voice. I froze, thinking he would cry "Go watch!"

– Hm?

– Thank you…

* * *

[1] No, not computer's: the portraits of the saints. The Orthodox Church, the most common in Russia, has not statues, but paintings.

[2] A classic cabin in Russian villages. Like this: .


	5. Dacha

Luckily, there weren't attacks in that night. Very luckily, because I fell sleeping once or twice, and in the second time, when I woke up, Russia had already got up. He didn't comment. He was beside the window, polishing a pipe.

Before I could say him good morning, Latvia entered the room.

– Mr. Russia, breakfast is served – he informed. Then, looking at me, he offered. – Miss, would you like proper clothing?

Just then I noted that my robe had fallen from my shoulders, and the nightgown was tenuous enough to cause both the present men to blush.

– 'Course! – I exclaimed, wrapping myself in the white robe and following Latvia. – _Poka__**[1]**_ – I said, addressing Ivan.

Soon after, when I joined them – the Baltic trio would eat with us – by the table, dressed in a flowered summer dress, Russia cleared the throat and said:

– I suppose that, as a host, I should provide recreation – he looked a bit bewildered, not really used to this. He glanced around, hoping that someone would bring forth an idea.

– Maybe it would be interesting if you went in a picnic – suggested Estonia. I did a grimace; since I had gotten there, I had been only eating and sleeping.

– Or hunt – whispered Latvia.

– You could also visit some city. Moscow, maybe – opined Lithuania. But Russia discarded those hypotheses with a wave of his hand, for my dismay.

– No, I feel lazy – I don't know if he noted my disappointed face, because he added: – Another day I'll take you there. I would like to find something nearby. Oh, I know – let's work in the _dacha_, what about? – he smiled at me. – Do you like to deal with plants?

– So-so – I answered. I could have added "Only if there's no other options".

– I have a magnificent _dacha__**[2]**_, I'm sure you'll like it – you could easily read the "but I want it and I rule here" behind the kindness with which he said it. I resigned.

– B-but sir – stuttered Latvia. – The _dacha_ is where Chechnya stays.

– You said we should avoid her and let her be, sir – reminded Estonia.

– And do you remember that day when she… – Lithuania started, but Ivan silenced him with a gesture.

– So what? She just works in the Western area. There is room enough for the three of us out there – Russia appeared to be upset. He frowned. – And if she _dares_ to make me shame in front of foreign guests, she'll have what she deserves.

I followed him outside. I had to run in order to keep up with those long legs. After a while, realizing my efforts, he slowed down. We made a detour to a hangar where we picked some tools, and continued to penetrate into the sunflower field.

Some more walking and the landscape changed. We climbed up a little elevation and, beyond it, the (never missing) sunflowers divided the place with wide plats of other flowers, several orchards and kitchen gardens that looked like actual plantations. I ruminated that it was an exaggeration to call that a _dacha_, which brings the idea of a small country house and its backyard with family agriculture and gardening. To give you an idea, the "small house" in question was that from which we just came out. But then I considered that the place should have national proportions, so it was adequate.

A change was wrought in Ivan. He was joyful and smiling. Not that shy and sinister smile that would come before the "I will drag them by the tongue from Moscow to Vladivostok", or similar remarks. He was very proud of his garden, and his appearance, reinvigorated by the fresh air.

He was more talkative too. He delivered me some instruments and taught me to use them. He taught me the right moment to reap strawberries, and to plant beet, and how to distinguish between mulberries and raspberries, which I didn't know, because they're not common fruits in Brazil. When I got tired and sat for a pause, he continued to work, humming, absent-minded.

I laid down on the ground, surrounded by the pleasant smell of flowers and little fruits. Later, Ivan approached, with a small basket filled with the fruits we had been harvesting. He sat down beside me and, while we were eating, we talked.

– On the afternoon, we're gonna take care of the flowers – he said. – There are several kinds of them around, but my favorites are the sunflowers.

I laughed.

– Really? I couldn't have suspected! – I said. He looked around and shrugged, with an awkward smile. – Why do you like them so much?

– Because they're big – he answered. – Just like me and everything around me, so they harmonize well here – There was logic on it. – And you better eat to grow, if you want to stay here – he joked, delivering me a handful of strawberries.

– I would love to, but I don't think that I will grow anymore. Maybe to the sides.

He smiled, and remained quiet for a moment.

–…Could you keep me company today also? – he requested, shyly. – Tonight, I mean. You don't have to watch, I'm more used to that. Just for me not to be alone. It's definitely depressive.

– Of course – I said. – Pleasantly.

After a brief rest, we went to the flower plats. In some of them, there was nothing to do, so we moved along to the plats that needed to be pruned or watered, covering a large extent of the field, in this meanwhile.

Here and there other people were working; some were not taking care of plants, they stood near small buildings surrounded by high piles of ores and barrels containing, by the smell, petroleum.

Suddenly, when we were taking care of some bushes of wild roses, next to one of those small houses, we heard a scream capable of tearing your eardrums, a bit like Xena's cry[3]. In this very instant, something blew up by my side. It was a Molotov cocktail[4].

I turned around and saw a tall woman, you couldn't say if she was thin or fat or anything about her appearance, as she was all covered with a greenish-blue burqa. One could only see her eyes, and they were fierce. I observed all those things very quickly, right before ducking aside to move out of the way of another projectile. She was throwing things on us as if she had as many arms as a windmill. She was also speaking very fast. For a moment I thought she was speaking Arabian, but then I realized that she was vomiting curses in Russian, unceasingly. In fact, apparently she wasn't even seeing me. She targeted the projectiles in Ivan, and he was the object of her inveighing.

His face was changed. The purple cloud was purpler than ever, and he sniffed like a mad bull. As soon as he realized she was the attacker, he had stopped swerving and started returning the aggressions.

– Out of my area, you miserable scoundrel! Take your dirty feet out of my ground, bastard! – Chechnya cried, because it could only be her. – Remove this rotten carcass off my place, imbecile giant! I will pluck out your eyes and feed the ravens with them, I'll shed your blood in the toilet, rip your guts while you're still breathing!

– Shut up your mouth, you rag-tongue! Do you want your ground? Swallow it! – growled Russia, and I had to throw myself to the ground to escape from being hit by the monstrous piece of soil that he disrooted and casted at her. – Go make your work and leave me alone. I didn't step on your filthy corner.

– But it's mine! Give me wood to close it! My house is mine, not yours! – lying on the ground, I noted that in Chechnya's foot there was an anklet, like the ones they place in bandit's feet, to track their movements and prevent them from escaping.

– You can't survive by your own! You eat from my food, have fun in my cities and bother my people. You complain because you're ungrateful, Chechnya. Should I let you go and in the next moment Georgia would capture you.

– I like her more than I like you – snarled Chechnya, bursting into her small building, maybe to take more projectiles, as there was nothing else to throw at sight.

I stood up and helped Russia to extinguish the fire in the sleeve of his t-shirt. There was a protrusion in his forehead, and a cut in his left arm, made by a steel bar thrown by his opponent.

– I hate this wicked creature. She and Georgia deserve each other – Russia grumbled, ireful. I knew he had a grievance against Georgia, for being Stalin's motherland. – She has a damned different culture, worthy only to damage me.

– So why don't you let her go away? – I questioned, perplex. He stared at me. His eyes were regardless and selfish, and he didn't seem to notice it.

– Because I need this – he answered, pointing at the steel pieces that Chechnya had thrown at him, extracted from the mine. Then, he went away.

I stood there. For a moment, I hated Russia.

* * *

[1] Bye

[2] The "dacha" is a Summer house, a second house where most of the Russians spend this season.

[3] Xena, the Warrior Princess. Unhappily I can't share links here.

[4] Homemade bomb, based in a flammable liquid.


	6. International Conference

_**Author's note:**__ I'm so sorry for this long silence! I had a period of tests at university and I really didn't have time to translate the fic. But now you have it. I hope you like it, and if you did, please leave a comment!_

* * *

I fulfilled my promise to Russia. While the white nights lasted, I would linger around him, in the library or any of the other thousands of rooms where we happened to be when all the other countries had gone home. We spent most of the time reading – what pleased me so much – sometimes each with his book, sometimes I would read for him, or he for me. I tried to look for joyful stories, in order to fight the tendency towards sadness that he already had, but, well, Russian authors are not the best friends of the happy endings. Luckily, there were classics of all the countries in those shelves, because Russia also loved reading.

Sharing the adventures and misadventures of the characters, we became more close to each other. He created a dozen of pet names for me, which is a Russian habit, but he didn't use them often because, as he said, my name sounded fine in his language. In the beginning, he wouldn't open his heart; we talked mostly about generalities. As the days gone by, however, he started to tell me things about him; histories, habits of his people, or of his sinister rulers. Naturally, I was an excellent listener, because this topic truly fascinated me, and he seemed always pleasantly surprised that somebody was so interested on him.

The summer was ending. The sunflowers had withered, and the wind, more intense, would overthrow whole treetops. There, the autumn was already colder than many of the winters that we have in Brazil, so that I would walk back and forth in the house with a thermos bottle full of tea. By the way, as I have _gaúchos_ as ancestors, I taught Ivan and the other countries in his house to drink the yerba mate tea or _chimarrão_, and they even liked it, although they mixed some unusual things in the herb. Vodka, for example. (Of course I allude to Ivan). Besides, Lithuania and Latvia had found a lot of warm clothes to me, because they could foresee that my stay would be long. Apart from the fact of having seemingly escaped from a museum – which didn't matter to me, as I like ancient clothes – they were beautiful costumes.

In a beautiful afternoon, they had lit the fireplace and we were sat in a room with the aspect of an iisba/i, along with the Baltics. Russia was knitting. (You better don't laugh). The place was pretty cozy, and as I like to talk, I succeeded in making Lithuania tell me his history. Estonia was busy checking counts in a desk nearby, and Latvia was playing with his fingers, as if they were little puppets walking and dancing in the window ledge. Then, a bell rang. Immediately, Estonia stood up and went to answer the door. He came back with a letter in his hand, looking worried. He cleared the throat.

– Mr. Russia, news from Europe – he said, in a low voice, approaching Ivan. Slowly and hardly, Russia pulled his mind out of the deep thoughts about the defoliating birch he was looking through the glass and rose his eyes gently to Estonia.

– Sorry?

– This letter just came from Europe, Mr. Russia – explained Estonia, or, as I had already learned, Eduard von Bock. – You're being summoned to a G8 meeting, sir.

Russia blinked and continued to stare at him, as if he hadn't got it. But he had, because he remarked following:

– Right, right. They want me to go there to be quiet and listen to their follies again? – he didn't seem to be worried, or annoyed. – Alright, it's funny. There's only one problem – he added, after a moment. A puzzled wrinkle creased his forehead and he pointed at me with the chin. – I have a guest. I can let her here. They should have asked first if I could go.

Estonia scratched his head and glanced at me.

– Well, sir... I think you could take her with you among the advisors. No one will notice… I hope.

Russia opened a smile.

– Excellent idea. They are nice, but sometimes they bore me to death – he said to me. – Besides, I'm not very close to any of them, so we don't talk a lot. Yeah, definitely, it will be funny.

Thus it was that, in September the first, along with some human advisors, we caught the train to Paris and, after crossing the English Channel, we would get to London, the place that would host the conference. We met France in the boat. Russia, that admired him not-very-secretly, went to greet him, and we went too.

– _Bonjour, Monsieur_ Russia**[1]** – replied the blondish, dandily (as always. Yeah, I don't like him very much). He glanced at us, humans, and reposed his eyes a little longer in the girls. Suddenly, he smiled at Russia's two female advisors, taking their hands and kissing it. – _Oui, oui_**[2]**, but if it's not Miss. Elena, I haven't seen you since the last conference... And my Svetlana, Paris misses your times of ballerina! We will never forget you! – he said, laying his hand upon his heart with a suffering air. The so-named Svetlana went read, waving her hand near the face. – You will always be welcome in my house.

Then he noticed me, and made a puzzled grimace.

– You... I didn't know you. _C'est nouvelle, ça petit__**[3]**__? _– he asked Russia, analyzing me attentively.

– Ah, Erika. She's not an advisor, she's my guest. I'm hosting her in my house. She came from Brazil just to know me – Russia announced, evidently proud. Estonia had told him to say I _was_ an advisor, not to get in trouble. But, evidently, Russia didn't care for the consequences of what he'd say or do.

– Oh, _Brèsil... Sont belles, ces filles _**[4]** – he leaned and kissed my hand too, and kissed my arm all way up to the elbow, when I shook him off. – _Pardon__**[5]**__!_ – he said, pretending a consternated face, either to me or to Russia, that was glaring at him, visibly angry. – I couldn't refrain myself. We, the descendants of the great Roman Empire, are like that, full of fire and passion, and if two of us meet, _oui!_, what should I do? – he shrugged, quizzical. – Nice to meet you, _Mademoseille__**[6]**_ – he said, blinking to me, and I hid behind Russia.

– Da, da... – Russia answered, not very sure. – Yes, that's what I see in your books, France, there's so muc…

– But, look! – France changed the subject, glancing through the hatch. – We've arrived to this dirty land. If they book it here again in the next time, I won't come – he threatened, going to the disembark platform, followed by his equally pretentious advisors. The truth is that he was touring in London all the time, but he would never acknowledge it.

We also headed to the hotel where the Group of Eight should stay. I was quiet all the way to there, thinking about that twerp France. Of course I couldn't take seriously the compliments of that lady-killer, as charming he could be. And with such a beautiful hair. But I was reckoning what he could want with that; he wouldn't miss a trick, that sneaky creature. He, as well as America, and – yes – England, with whom I really sympathize. For what I could tell by Svetlana's and Elena's faces, they were also thinking about France, but not in the same way as I.

I had never been in London, so I was loving that mist and all I could glimpse through the mist. We got to the hotel a bit after midday. The actual conference would happen in the following day; a fraternization feast would take place that night, in order to calm the tempers and, verily, to introduce the most important and shady business.

Russia and the others went to lunch. I was more curious than hungry, then I decided to explore the hotel's building, a Victorian mansion. I don't know how they confounded me with a maid, because of my South american appearance and the blue dress I was wearing, but no one blocked my tour. I even got to enter in the attic – there were a lot of extravagant things there, kings' portraits, mini bottled ships, but there was also a lot of dust, then I decided to go down in order not to die suffocated, and walk the inverse way towards the basement. Near the kitchen, I heard a voice that sounded familiar.

– ...and then, what else could I do?, I ran. A lot. As soon as I found a telephone, I called Doitsu and asked him to come save me, and if he could bring a _pizza_ with him, I would really, really thank him.

I heard loud laughter, and run towards it, because of course I wouldn't skip the chance of seeing that cutie Italy Veneziano... live.

He was sat in the corridor, eating pasta and entertaining three maids with his tales of war (that is, about how he would flee and be captured). I stopped at some distance and listened.

– But I don't like it, noooo. My boss would send me to war, but I didn't want it. What I like is to tread over grapes, play accordion, dance… and PASTAAAAAAA! – he exclaimed, with the slits of his eyes shining, and rolled more spaghetti in his fork. I exclamou, com as fendinhas dos olhos brilhando, e enrolou mais espaguete no garfo. Lambi os lábios – eu também amo macarrão. I licked my lips – I also _love_ pasta. Laughing, some of the kitchen-maids looked around and saw me. Italy turned to me too.

– Hello! I am Italy, and these are Nancy, Lucy and Bettie. What about you? – he said. – Come over here.

– I'm Erika – I answered, staring at his fork. I regretted for being so obvious, when I heard his next comment.

– Sounds like you're hungry – he said, kindly. – Did you escape from upstairs too? Mr. England is nice, you know, but the food he serves is almost like an insult. Bettie, can you take to her a plate of the pasta I cooked? And, if you can, wine and six cups?

I and the English girl had a lot of fun with Italy. As he was (we were?) staying more lively due to the whine, he sang, danced, bade us to dance the _tarantella_, told more stories (more and more preposterous… in the last one, HE saved Germany!), and ate almost the entire pan of pasta, so that we asked ourselves, amazed, how could he be so thin and how he didn't die of congestion.

After this, he embraced two of us with each of his arms and we all climbed the stairs to the hall, stepping kind of shakily. If I was more lucid, I would have felt sorry for my fellow maids, for they would surely lose their jobs. At the hall, we bumped into Russia.

– Hello, Mr. Russia! – Veneziano greeted, bowing and taking us with him. – Nice to meet you again! We haven't seen each other since…? I don't have the faintest idea.

– Hi, Italy – Russia replied. He was calm but a bit vexed; of course he had already noticed me. – I see you already know _my_ guest – he said, underlining the "my".

– Who? – Italy asked, tilting his head innocently. – This one? This? Oh, yeah, how gracious! – he commented, smiling at Ivan, that had pulled me a bit briskly from under the pasta-lover's arm.

– Da, da, I know, two Latins and blah, blah, blah – he retorted, with a slight clue of a purple cloud in the look he threw at the Veneziano. – You will have to excuse us now, Mr. Italy, we we're going to rest a bit before the cocktail. You know how it is, such a long travel…

– Sure, sure! _Buona sera__**[7]**_, Mr. Russia e Erika! Sleep well – he almost shouted, in the middle of the hall, so that, even being a bit drunk, even I was ashamed.

I preferred not to glance at Russia's face and run to my bedroom, which was located with the advisors' bedrooms – the countries and their Bosses stayed in another floor. I didn't have a crisis of conscience because the weight of the pasta in my stomach literally knocked me down and I slept so deeply that, if Elena hadn't shook me, I would have lost the cocktail's time.

She and Svetlana helped me with the costume, and taught me the minimum of etiquette, matter in which – I should confess – I'm not the best. Prissy stuff. By the way, those two women were so beautiful that you could even feel envious – tall, round-faced, one of them was blond with blue eyes and the other, brunette with grey eyes, and both had silky straight hair (my chimerical dream). Well, we better forget it. At last, I managed to look presentable, and then we went up.

Yes, we went up: the ballroom occupied the entire penultimate floor. In fact, there were several salons and some rooms with specific finality (smoking room, for example), connected by large doors. There was an orchestra, and they were playing classical music and folk songs from the several present countries. Not "jumping songs", of course, softer music[8]. There was a purl of low, secret gabble all around the ballroom. People exchanged flattery and falsehood in several languages, but mainly in English and French.

There was a wide but discreet table beside one of the walls, covered with tables and aperitifs, but at this stage I couldn't even look at food. I stood quiet, next to Russia, observing the well-dressed people, trying to guess their nationalities. At a certain moment, Barack Obama passed by me, chatting discreetly with Angela Merkel[9], and in other part of the room, Hillary Clinton was attacking Sarkozy's[10] successor. Verbally, of course. Alias, to attack verbally look exactly like what America was doing, in another part of the ballroom, speaking so aloud to a group of Japanese advisors that anyone could hear.

–...than, you could find a way of producing minor i-phones, so that they would fit in a tiny purse. For old ladies may want to listen to music too. But do not reduce it immediately; diminish about 8 millimeters for edition, so they'll have to buy every one of them…

A little later, there was the dinner, with a huge variety of dishes, some of them – luckily! – from the invited countries. The actual English dishes were barely touched. They were nastier than the coaxing the guests were saying to each other, except for Russia, who was as quiet as always, especially after he nearly sat on the poor invisible Canada.

When the dinner was finished, some when went to smoke or take a drink in the next room, and the majority of the women, to brush up the make-up. As I hadn't seen Elena or Svetlana around to help me with this task (and I suspected I wouldn't see them so early, considering the mates they had left the dinner table with), and as Ivan had chosen the drink, I stayed there wandering, until I found a thoughtful England in the balcony, and approached him.

Before becoming Russia's fan, I was crazy for England, so I wouldn't miss the chance of exchanging a few words with him about the fantastic fantasy writers he had and about King Arthur and all the other knights, with their (imaginary and) brave feats.

– What a beautiful night – I started. If you don't know what to say, time is always the best topic. England glanced at me, curving a little his five floors eyebrows.

– It's true – he agreed, cagey. – There are stars. They are generally covered by the fog.

– You organized a beautiful... a beautiful event, here – I said, unsure.

– Well, this is the work of the host – he replied, with a light smile, looking ahead attentively without turning to me.

– What are you seeing out there? – I asked, curisou.

– A… nothing – he amended, quickly, blushed and distrustful. I leaned on the balustrade beside him and stared ahead too, but I really didn't see anything.

– I bet it is a thestral**[11]** – I said, then, joking.

– How do you know? – he exclaimed, more than amazed. – Do you see it too?

– No – I laughed. He frowned. – And that's the reason. I've never seen death – I added, quickly – but you did. Many times.

– Oh... this is true – he said, dispirited, leaning his forehead in his hand, while his elbow rested in the balustrade. He sighed. – Sometimes I think I'm crazy. I see those things all around – he disembosomed.

– Thestrals?

– Yes, and goblins, fairies, leprechauns, The Flying Dutchman**[12]**,, all the phantoms you can imagine. I only do not see zombies, because they are not traditional, they're invention of that retard, America.

– Just like vampires that shine under the sun**[13]** – I added. He laughed ironically.

– Ridiculous, uh? America tries to copy me, but he's the ruin of fantasy.

– They'll never produce masters like Tolkien, J. K. Rowling, C. S. Lewis, Terry Pratchett… – I said, with my eyes probably shining of zest. It's one of my favorite topics.

– No chance – agreed England, l vivaciously. It seems I had found a topic in which we agreed: America is an idiot. – Because everything he makes is for selling, after all. He doesn't know art by art itself.

– Oscar Wilde – I said, with a smile. He smiled too.

– Yes, he was the greatest defender of art. Irish of birth, English of language, French of soul. I miss that creature, in spite of his bad likings – he admitted, a bit against his will.

We talked some more time. I had achieved a prowess: making England open his heart to me. When I started the conversation, I didn't have such a big hope. He became a bit distant when he asked who I was and discovered I had come from Brazil. Argh, nasty snobbish Europeans. But as he had already started, he continued to grizzle his annoyances against America, France, the Queen and a lot of other people. He wouldn't do that so often.

– Miss Erika, shouldn't we retire? – I heard, in the middle of England's speech about why he wasn't crazy because he talked with elves. England shut up immediately. I looked back; it was Aleksandr Popov, one of Russia's advisors.

– Minutochku, Aleksandr Petrovich**[14]** – I asked. And to England: – I have to go.

– Well, it was a pleasure to talk with you – he answered, straightening and placing one hand in his nape. I suppose he was starting to figure out that he had just unraveled his soul to an stranger. And a foreign stranger, worst of all. But I didn't give him time for repentance.

– It was my pleasure – I replied, standing on my tiptoes and kissing his cheek. Ha! I've never seen someone so disturbed. – Good night – I said, quickly, and ran after Aleksandr, choking laughter.

Undoubtedly, that day had been very funny.

* * *

[1] Good morning, Russia

[2] Oui (French), Da (Russian), Ja or Jawohl (German, pronounced ya or yavol) – all of these means "Yes".

[3] She's new, this little [girl]?

[4] Oh, Brasil... They are beautiful, those girls.

[5] I'm sorry!

[6] Miss.

[7] Good afternoon.

[8] Something like Greensleeves (England), The Ride of the Valkyries (Germany) or Swan Lake (Russia).

[9] Germany's chanceler.

[10] Sarkozy is France's former president, as womanizer as the country's character.

[11] _Thestral_ is a fantastic beast, I don't know if it was invented by J. K. Rowling, it appears in Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix (book 5). To the ones who don't know it, it's sort of a gaunt flying horse, black and with blank, blind eyes, a terrifying animal. Only the ones that already had seen death can see them. In the book, Harry is one of the few people that see it. The others are Luna Lovegood and Neville Longbottom.

[12] Who doesn't know who he is, go watch Spongebob!

[13] I'm sorry fans of Twilight (and the Walking Deads or something), but I couldn't help it. ;)

[14] _Just a minute, Aleksandr Petrovich._ Petrovich é o patronymic, it indicates the name of the person's father. In this case: Aleksandr son of Piotr (Peter). To use the name and the patronymic of the person, in Russian, is a formal manner of treatment, similar to saying Mr. Aleksandr.


	7. International Conference II

They didn't wake me up in the next day. Maybe they thought I wouldn't get interested in the actually political part of the meeting, but I don't know... Even if that was the reason, they were wrong - how to like Hetalia and not to appreaciate Geopolitics?

I not even searched for a breakfast; I grabbed the permit to enter in the conference room and run to it. I had to take a cab, because the event would take place in a building next to the House of Lords. Luckily, they were still in the moment of the homages and that kind of stuff. The countries were sat around the table, in the middle of the room, and all the advisors, as well as other important people, were in the galleries that you could reach by some stairs covered with velvet.

I climbed there and sat behind the Russians, silent. Some of them arched the eyebrows when they saw me. I greeted them with a wave of my hand, and then I turned forth, determined to stay quiet and not to disturb the meeting. Anyway, just the fact I was there was already a story to tell to the grandchildren, if I happen to have some.

My intention of staying unnoticed didn't worked just as I thought, in spite of the discretion of that Alfred (not America) or James that approached me, with that soft stepping of the butlers in detective's stories, delivering me a correspondence of official appearance. Yellowish paper, with a seal, it even looked like a Hogwarts letter. I almost ripped the paper, fumbling with the fingers to open it.

_"Dear Miss Batista (read the letter, typed in Courier New)_

Considering the pleasant colloquy that we kept by the occasion of the post-dinner, yesterday, and your admirable knowledge in what concerns to the bizarre creatures that inhabit the literature of the English nation (I mean the writers, too), I come, by means of this letter, officially invite you to the Regional Convention of Fantasy, which is preview for the World Convention of Fantasy that will take place here in the next October (2013).

The entertainment of the event includes: simulated medieval battle; crossing of a forest (at night), Celtic party, and a visit to a haunted castle.

I look forward to count with your presence, in order for us to continue the topic on the battle of the good against evil. In case this come out impossible during the event, you may remain hosted in my house for _**one (01) weekend**__ else, and we will discuss the matter at the tea time._

In the occasion, we may analyze the possibility of future visits.

Att,

Arthur Kirkland (aka England)."

I goggled, trembling. Well, that invitation was the nearest a muggle could come from a Hogwarts letter. Even with that offensive highlight in the "one (01) weekend" that had surely been added because of my nationality – geez, what habdabs about poor immigrants! I looked at England with sort of an ironical grimace; he was staring at me, measuring my reaction, and his lips outlined an imperceptible smile. I glanced at Russia, not sure if he had seen that; he seemed as impassible as always.

Well, well, such an invitation was not something you can simply throw away, in spite of the roughness. "Definitely, I'll think about it". I put the letter in the first pocket I found and, as Canada had just read the meeting's agenda, I started, as everyone around, to pay real attention. I thought America would be the first to speak, but not; Germany cleared the throat and stood up.

– There is something that we must solve. This economic crisis in Europe has to finish. I don't know how to say it in a kind manner, but… – he crossed his arms – I'm no longer paying for your sprees.

– What do you mean with that? – France said, aggrieved.

– I mean you do not work – Doitsu hissed. – The people in your country make a strike every time someone breaks the nail.

France pointed his finger at him, but stayed there biting the air, not able to say anything.

– He even ran a strike protesting against the strikes – England mocked.

– I wouldn't laugh so much if I were you – Germany retorted coldly. – You really don't help a lot, isolated there with your pound.

– We should block him until he accepts the Euro – France gave his opinion, always glad if he could be against England.

– No way – mumbled the eyebrow-man. – I'm not a daft; I will not grab a corpse.

– I don't cause you problems, right, Doitsu? – asked Hetalia, seemingly very afflicted. It was Germany's turn of babbling, not knowing how to answer to that without a swear-word. And a swear-word in German…could really cause a WWIII.

– Oh, it's nothing but your obligation to bear our debts – said South Italy, crossing his arms in the back of his head. – You caused many problems to Europe, in the last century, with the wars and that stupid wall – and he totally ignored the fact of being Germany's ally in both the wars he referred to. The German man went red.

– You two... – he growled, stretching his finger towards the Italian brothers. He took a breath. – The only reason I will not say you are the worst ones is because we have Greece that only sleeps – Doitsu sighed and pressed his forehead with the tips of his fingers. – And those East European… things.

The smile in Russia's face could be seen light-years away.

I believe that was the reason – to help from them hearing a possible suggestion of Russia that, maybe, desperate as they were, the Europeans could accept – why America took the floor.

– Gentlemen – he said, raising both his hands to wrestling, which looked like a palpable possibility. – I have a solution. You know that when the plate gets hot between you… the humanity loses. Do not destroy your historical buildings and masterpieces with useless battles. My children need these places to visit in their graduation trips. Turn your eyes to the Future!... – he exclaimed, making a gesture inwards, with his hands. Epic moment. Only the flag waving behind him was missing. The other countries stared at him, totally poker face, no idea of what he was talking about. America got angry. – Don't ya see?! – he exclaimed, still pointing at himself.

– What exactly, Mr. America? – asked Veneziano, shyly.

– Exactly, America! And Oceania! The New World – America was impassioned. – You see, in spite of my name, I'm not the only country in America – "Seriously?!", mumbled Canada, bored, but no one cared. They were paying attention to the "Hero". – There is a whole Central America and, yes, a South America too!...

It was my turn to think "Seriously?!". But that was getting weird. I sharpened my ears.

–...Until now, I had not highlighted this fact under your eyes because, well, it is _my_ continente. Only I should rule over those countries. It just happens that they're a bit rebel... Some years ago, they even dared to overthrow my dictators. And I that always wanted the best for those fool little nations… – he said, with a martyr face, gathering his hands in the chest. – I just wanted to rid them from commun…

– America-san, can you get to the point? – Nihon asked, almost implored. He had been watching Russia by the corner of his eye.

– Ok, ok. What I'm talking is: there are things left to explore there. And, if you need, I allow you to – he shrugged.

The countries got silent for a moment. I tried to reckon what they were thinking, and gave up. I was not finding it not even close from funny.

– What are... the conditions? – the severe, cautious voice of Germany came.

– Middle East is mine – point-blank, this America! – I've seen it for first, and no on – this was said staring at Russia – will take it away.

– Haha, this is good; you take all the petroleum, and we, how do we get by? – hissed France, arms crossed.

– You're wrong, France-san – said Japan, in a low voice. – At least in South America there is petroleum enough. It's just a matter of finding the right instruments to extract it. Some of my engineers were among the charged of studying the possibilities.

– And there is much more than it there! – exclaimed America, punching the table, excited. – Grab this opportunity, my friends, and you can take Amazon in the bargain… No one knows how many kinds of plants are there, which are their properties, if you doubt we can even find magical herbs. And how many species of animals, not to mention the water, the noble wood, and the minerals. Yes, gold, silver, and many others. You just need to find the places where something was left, for Spain and Portugal plundered a lot in those regions, and dig.

As everybody knows, gold is a word that is far more magical than "please" or even "Expelliarmus". The eyes of the nations flickered ambition.

– And how do you suppose we could… come into possession of those things? – England said, cautiously. – Because it is the house of other countries, isn't it?

– Well, manage it – America shrugged. – I gave you the clue and promised not to interfere; I can't chew the hamburguer for you too. But… – he smiled in a sort of evil manner – there is someone there who's lately wanting to show off.

– If you refer to Argentina, he's pretentious by nature – England said. He had had some troubles with this country do to some so-called Malvinas Islands, or Falklands, but that is other story.

– Yeah, America, you expressed yourself poorly – France laughed. – All of Spain's descendants like to show off. And if you talk about Venezuela, although she's really a gorgeous cutie, I don't think she likes us Europeans so much. And we don't like her.

– America talks about Burajiru – infered Nihon, which had been staring attentively at USA.

– Brazil? – everybody exclaimed. France's and England's looks turned quickly up, towards me, for a split second; I hope I succeeded in controlling the paleness.

– We don't have any reason to attack him… – England said, slowly, seeming as if he was sorry for it.

– Oh, I have – snarled Romano. But it is also another story.

– Well, not out of an action – considered Germany, subtly. – But what if he continues the omission… in taking care of the forest, I mean…

–...we will have to take care of the situation – France completed. And it was dreading to see them agreeing, even completing each other's thoughts. Silence.

– Well, these are things to think in the future – England roused everybody. – Belgium has a debt and we need to know what to do with it.

The convention prolonged all the afternoon on, and into the night, deciding topics of the whole world, but mainly the economical deficits of the other European countries – Spain, Portugal, Romania… Everybody. I could no longer pay attention. I went out of the room some times to breath, came back, but never got calmer. As funny the previous day had been, today was freaking me out. I was biting my nails, and I don't really have this habit. In my head was empty except for the word "War, war, war, war…", and I had forgotten England's invitation, I had even forgotten Russia, I was only thinking about a way of coming back home and warn the government, or the population, even if I had to appear in the Globo for it. Only that it was not so simple, because I didn't know how I had gotten there, and obviously that was not my world, with anthropomorphic countries. Would there exist a Brazil, and someone had his phone number, so that I could warn him?

When the conference was ended, I came back to the hotel without noticing it, along with Russia's advisors. I didn't talk much with them. I was worried, and they didn't seem to be very happy with me either. I soon dived in my bed, but a long time passed until I finally slept, out of pure weariness…

In the next morning, for a change, they again didn't awake me. And the unpleasant surprises hadn't ended: I was getting dressed, sleepy, when I looked out of the window, to the hotel's courtyard down there, and I saw Russia and his advisors directing the stowing of the luggage in the trunks of two official cars.

They were going home without me!

* * *

**Notes:**

"Globo" is the most famous Brazilian news channel, I believe it would be like Fox or CNN in USA. BTW, I hate this channel.

All you can see in this chapter are some current conspiracy theories in Brazil. Tell me what you think about it.

And sorry for the bad translation, if you have some suggestion to make the text better...


	8. Plans

I literally flied. Until now I'm not sure if I didn't take a shortcut jumping through the window, but as my bedroom was located in the fifth floor, it's not really probable. The fact is that within two minutes, I was there, just in time to have my fingers smashed in the door of the car that Alexandr Popov was closing.

I didn't mind the pain, for I reached my goal: they stopped. Apart from the fact from being damned if I was left behind – because neither I could stay, nor I knew how to come back home – what hurt me the most was that they were forsaking me. For, in my mind, my visit to Russia wasn't finished yet. And I would never imagine such a rude attitude coming from him. I had already seen him being cruel, but never rude.

Ivan opened the other door of the car and went out through it. He stared at me coldly.

– Yes? – he asked, politely.

– Yes what?! – I exclaimed, bored, my eyes widening. – How is that? am I staying?

– Well, as the Regional Convention of Fantasy happens in the next week, I thought Mr. England wouldn't mind hosting you some days else until the event – he answered, simply, with a little smile. I stuttered.

– H-how do you...?

– Have you ever heard about the Russian spies? They're not exactly a legend, you know – Russia replied, softly. As the other car had already started the engines and wheeled half the courtyard, Russia cried for them to stop. – In the end, I don't blame you – he continued, still smiling, but with a little bitter smile. – In your shoes, I would probably prefer the European countries too. In some aspects, they're really charming. Especially their guts – came off. He laughed. – It's a joke. You could become friends with them, congratulations. I have tried it for years. Have fun.

– Ivan, I didn't become friends with them. I don't know if you heard the same as I did, but they are planning to attack my country.

– They? How do you know it's not _us_? – he said, in a cruel manner, and got in the car. – Good luck – he said, then, biding the driver to go with a gesture. I ran and grabbed the door in his side.

– I don't know how to come back home, and I cannot and want not to stay here. I wanna go with you. Please… – I begged, desperate.

He simply kept looking at me, for at least a whole minute, in the torture of uncertainty. Sometimes a cruel delight was delineated in his eyes, which would then become darker, more purple; in other moments, it was tenderness and mercy. I'll tell you, I confess I deserved it, but it surely wasn't pleasant.

– Sasha, go take her bag – he said, after a while. – And after, you'll travel in the other car. I have some private business.

He made room for me to sit down and shut the door. He saw I was barefoot – and trembling, England is cold too – then he took off the scarf and threw it over my feet, silent. I blushed.

– I'm sorry, Russia... I... – I muttered, ashamed. He dispensed my excuses with a wave of hand, staring at the window in his other side.

– I already told you I would have done the same – he said, in a low voice. Then he turned to me, suspicious. – You_ really_ want to come back to my house, or you only said that because you have nowhere to go?

I love this guy, always so subtle.

– I want – I answered. – Although… I would like to be able to warn my country. You know, all my family and friends…

– Uhm. I really wanted to talk about it with you.

The car had started moving.

– Do you think... – he said, after a moment – that Brazil would accept to become one with Mother Russia? – I gulped.

– Perhaps, if it was an actual _mother_ Russia, and not you.*

He stared at me, perplex, and then he laughed.

– How do you think this happens? – I shrugged, red. – Some treaties are enough, don't you know? – and he laughed again.

– Notwithstanding, I don't know, Ivan. It's already big trouble to take care of the size we already have – then I remembered something. – But I shouldn't say these things to you… so that after you could invade Brazil easier, correct? – I asked ironically, crossing my arms. He discarded the possibility with a negative wave of the head.

– The whole world will become one with Mother Russia someday. I'm in no hurry to catch Brazil. And you saw, back there, how much they like me – he laughed, sarcastic. – They didn't ask for my support and I have no reasons to offer it. I would love to see them falling flat on their faces – he confesses, softly, with his hands crossed on his knees.

– Are you saying that you're going to support Brazil? – I asked, hopeful.

– No – he continued smiling. When he saw my desolated face, he added. – I also have no reason to do it, Erika.

True. Shit. An idea dawned on me.

– Well, but what about the BRICS?

– What BRICS? – he frowned. – Oh, you mean that association…

– ...of the countries with biggest growth potential. If all of you actually got united, apart from occupying half the space of the Earth, you could surely control the world – geez, it seems like I also have a sort of Pink and Brain's mind [1]. Maybe, deep down, that's the reason I get well with Russia. But I hit my target: his eyes were starting to shine with a mild purple light, and this time it didn't scare me; no, I was happy instead.

– There's a problem, Yao. China – he exclaimed, quietly. – Formerly, I wanted to be his friend, but I abandoned the communism. He would run away from me then, let alone now. We'll never get his collaboration.

– This is not a problem – I said, leaning on the car's door, as swanky as Spongebob Squarepants when he was "In charge" [2]. – Brazil had good relations with China. _And_ with South Africa.

Yuhu! The purpler cloud was growing. Now I needed to deliver the final blow.

– Of course – I said, with a sigh – nothing of this will be possible if they do invade Brazil. They will want to rule the country, take away all that is ours, and modify our relations with the other countries according to their will. Then, goodbye plans of mightiness. I think that even the sun will grow dark with the sorrow – I said, to add a poetical touch. Russia seemed to be at the border of tears –…will you support Brazil? – I asked, then, _sotto voce_.

– I'll think about it – he answered. Argh! _Why_ so tough?! I crossed my arms, sulky.

– Can you at least send an ambassador to my father's house in other to warn him? – I asked. I meant the country, not my real father, because Russia sometimes called me Brazil's daughter.

– I will, when the time is come.

– Send them now, they won't have time to prepare! – he laughed.

– No... You don't understand the countries' subtleness, girl. Espionage and counterespionage. The Europeans have not even steadied the purpose of attacking Brazil. If I anticipate myself, they would discover my intentions, and they would hide their plans from me, what would spoil everything – he explained, mildly. I was abashed about how smart he was went he wanted to. In fact, he hadn't assured his intentions even to me.

I sighed and leaned back in the seat, still worried. How wouldn't I be? Brazil and war have always been incompatible words for me; I was facing the perspective of my country's doom. There are some things I don't like here, such as heat and Carnival, but, anyway…

– Relax – said Russia, observing me. – There is no reason for preoccupations now. The future always surprises us. Maybe nothing that you are thinking will come to be, so why to worry? – he shrugged, and offered me his pocket flask, with the usual cute and calm smile. – Vodka always helps.

I refused.

A little later, we crossed the English Channel.

* * *

*My OC Brazil is male. And I don't like Yaoi.

[1] Some funny lab mice of an old cartoon.

[2] In this peculiar episode, "Gullible Pants".


	9. General Winter

Russia continued to act as kindly as always. It seemed as if he had completely forgotten the incidents with the other countries during the conference. In his land, birthday commemoration (which happens twice in a year[1]) is not as important as in ours, but in September 8th he prepared a small party to me, in the manner of Brazilian "coffee break"[2]; a very unusual party, as the guests were the countries that worked for him. I got as gifts typical things of those countries, even foods. I loved this regard of him towards me, even suspecting that his real intention was to make me forget the Regional Convention of Fantasy, which should happen around these days. And whose invitation had mysteriously vanished.

In spite of all this, I was still worried. Deep down, I would like to go home, even if only during some days, to meet Brazil and warn him. Furthermore, the winter was approaching at large and icy steps, and the temperature, falling at the scale of 5 degrees per day. For all of this, someday in the middle of October, the snow had just started to fall, and I gathered courage to ask Ivan if he would let me go to spend the winter in my home.

– Go and never come back – he said, after spending fifteen minutes staring at me with that motionless smile in his face. His voice sounded ominous. Especially because, just after that, he laughed with that quaint "kolkolkol" that used to make everybody melt. I got stuck in my place, beside the armchair in which he was sat; I didn't know how to act. Within some instants, he put himself under control. Then he stared at me with sore eyes. – You said you liked me, why do you want to run away as soon as the winter comes? – he rubbed in my face, yet not with the voice of who is doing that. – It's inconsistent to like _me_ and not to like the snow.

– I like the snow, Ivan… I think – I answered. – But I don't know if I can't take it, no. I haven't ever seen snow. We have already surpassed the minimum temperatures of Brazilian winter long ago.

– Bullshit! – he said, with a carefree wave of hand. – Nothing that some skins and some tea with vodka could not solve. Just because you have never seen snow! Do you think I'll leave you miss it? No, you will stay here, and we'll enjoy snowball battles, snowmen, ice skating, ski… I'm sure you'll have fun. Now, dress the bonnet and the gloves, let's go feed my bears.

There was no possible discussion with Russia.

Ultimately, he was right. I had an awful lot of fun every time I managed to overcome the pricking in my members. He was so cute that we would pretend to be hit by my balls that passed versts[3] away from him, and would let me win; he wasn't very delicate, though, and more than once he had to unearth me from under his comet-sized snowballs. The first snowman we made was big and awkward; Russia may have identified with him, I don't know; the point is that he considered the poor guy was too lonely, and every day after we made new snowmen; around the Western Christmas day[4], the house was already surrounded by an army of them. Despite coming back home almost every day with the clothes humid of the melted snow, and refusing to drink vodka to get warmer, it seemed I would endure the winter fine.

Until the day when we went to ice skate in the Baikal Lake. We slid on a part in which the ice was thinner, and it succumbed under Russia's weight, so that we both fell in the frozen "like a thousand knives stabbing you all over your body" water (stealing Jack Dawson's expression), because I would only skate with Ivan conducing me, lest I would squash. He laughed. He thought I was laughing too, but my face was just deformed by the thermic shock.

In that night, I couldn't sleep, coughing and sneezing. I woke up with such a high fever that the things were undulating in front of my eyes. I had no strength to get up and have breakfast. Lithuania came to see what was happening, went out, and came back with Russia. After that, I can't remember anything consistently. I woke up some times. There seemed to be always one of the Baltic countries around me, and sometimes some of the others. Sometimes I glimpsed Russia. In one of those times he was scolding Latvia colossally; in another occasion, he was knelt down in a corner. It was impossible, in my condition, to comprehend what was happening.

They fed me soups and several kinds of teas, but I wasn't getting better. I coughed so much that sometimes I cried because of the pain in the lungs. I don't know how many days it lasted. One night, I woke up with some more conscience and there were the faithful Lithuania, Estonia and Latvia by my side. Lithuania perceived that my eyes were in focus, and ran to give me a glass of water.

– How are you? – he asked, helping me to drink it.

– Fine, I think – I replied, in a hoarse voice. – Why are you still here? It's night already. And where is Ivan?

– We're here to take care of you, miss – Estonia answered. – And Mr. Russia left.

– Where did he go? – I asked. Silence. The three of them looked at each other.

– Well – replied Estonia – he said he was going to confront General Winter. He said he would compel the General to give back your health.

– Or...? – I asked.

– There wasn't an "or" – answered Latvia, quietly.

Out there, several versts beyond our army of snowmen, a creature was wandering, walking always forward, struggling in every step as if he was swimming, and not cutting the air.

– _Zima_[5]! – Russia shouted ferociously to the tempest of snow that was fustigating him and roaring around him. – Give her health back! Leave her alone!

The wind whistled vertiginously in his ears, and the sound was like a mocking laughter. Russia clenched his teeth. His affair with General Winter was longstanding. Sometimes ally, sometimes enemy, General Winter had always kept Russia's house safe, but at what cost!

– Zima! – Russia repeated. – Zima! Leave her! What did she against you? Release her. She comes from far away, from a land of sun, she's not used to all this ice. You play dirty. Drop her... Please... – he sobbed, hidding his face in his hands. The wind shook his scarf and the trees around, ruthless. Ivan roared with rage.

– Take me in her place, you bandit! – he exclaimed, in a loud voice, undressing and throwing away his _ushanka__**[6]**__, _the scarf, the coat… until he knelt down on the snow, wearing only pants. – _Pojaluista__**[7]**__... – _he murmured, through chattering teeth.

Blizzard fustigated him violently; only Russia knew General Winter well enough to recognize his acre voice in the whistling of the tempest.

– Do you think I have not tried it year after year? But you are strong, Russia, and we both know each other langsyne, we're predictable to each other…

– Shut up this mouth and do your job!

– ...Moreover, you know that we natural phenomena cannot extirpate a nation, unless it's allowed to us. Stand up, idiot! You time has not come… yet. Neither hers. But you do wrong in become fond. Human beings last as much as a breath...

The voice straggled. Russia remained there, eyes closed, teeth clenched, and trembling violently in that -40ºC temperature, while the tempest got calmer. A little later, the sliding of a sled was heard.

– Mr. Russia! – shouted Estonia, still far. – Mr. Russia, she reacted. It was after she drank the… but what do you…?! Did you lose your mind, Mr. Russia, do you want to get sick too? – questioned the young man, fussy.

Russia dressed quickly and jumped to the sled, swallowing the vodka from his pocket flask until the last drop. They departed in a race and Ivan, impatient, every now and then whipped the poor dogs. As soon as he got home, he almost broke the door and went off to the chamber where he had left the sick me.

Sat on the bed and wrapped on blankets, I was talking with Latvia and Lithuania.

Ivan let out a lame laughter – anyone could see that his nerves' conditions were deplorable – and, leaning over me, he lifted me as if I was made of paper, so that I had my feet dangling meter and a half from the floor. He gave me a suffocating hug.

– Thanks… Thanks to the good God! – he exclaimed, in his deep voice. – I was sure you would die, and then it would be my fault, because I forced you to stay…

The three loyal servants of Russia were staring at us, agape. Russia with remorse for having (almost) caused someone's death? Never seen before.

Ivan and I felt their looks and blushed. He put me back on the ground.

– Well, I... I'm going to sleep here, in case you still need some care – he said, going to the neighbor bedroom and bringing a sizable divan. Recovering a bit of his presence of mind, he turned to Estonia and his fellows. – You three are not exempt – he said, strictly. – Latvia is going to sleep here too. The others, find a place, not too far, so that you may promptly attend if you are called. Good night.

Dictatorial as always, he turned off the lights without asking anyone if he could, leaving only the light of the fire… And of those warm and concerned violet eyes, those eyes that had confronted General Winter for me…

* * *

[1] Technically, the "second" birthday is the day of the Saint with whose name the kid was baptized. In my case, it was my actual birthday, because I guess there's no Saint Erika.

[2] Brazilians call "coffee break" (the best translation I found for "cafezinho") a simpler birthday party, where you don't have so much food, invitations, entertainment... It's a bit similar to a tea party, sometimes there are not even gifts, the deal is the food. Adults or poor people generally prefer the "cafezinho" than an actual birthday party with all it should have.

[3] Old Russian measure that is equivalent to 1.067m. It's the measure that appears in Dostoevsky's and Gogol's books, so I felt like using it too.

[4] Russian Christmas follows the Orthodox Church calendar and happens in January 7th.

[5] Winter, in Russian.

[6] Russian hat with ear flats.

[7] Please.


	10. Change?

– Blin![1]

I got scared when I woke up with precisely that pair of violet eyes looking me in the dark, at most a hand away from mine.

– Russia! What's happening? – I exclaimed, quietly.

– Happens that you are ice-cold – he grumbled, worried. – I think you've got hypothermia.

– Hyp-pothermia? Don't b-be a fool! – I said, trembling from the top of the head to the tiptoes under the thick pile of blankets.

– Vodka? – he offered me again his pocket flask. I nodded "no" with my head. - For medicinal purposes! – he insisted. I nodded negatively again, and he sighed. He looked to the lit fireplace, to the blankets. – You don't leave me a choice – he said, walking around the bed. – Move over.

I obeyed, feeling the mattress sink with the new weight. I goggled in the dark when Russia stretched an arm and draw me near. I felt like Finland in the episode 17 of Hetalia World Series, with the difference that I was liking it. I tell you, the cold went away really quick. Who seemed a little awkwardly was Russia. He was breathing noisily and it looked like he was doing everything not to meet my eyes. I took the opportunity to observe him freely.

He was awake, staring at the ceiling, his cheeks lightly blushed. I had an urge to kiss him, but I refrained myself because I know this would terrify him, considering Belarus. He was shy, that little thing. Oh, well, not so little in fact. I laid my head on his chest, feeling the softness of the flannel pajama, and I heard his heart pounding beyond the normal rhythm. Honestly, how could anyone be afraid of him, how could they hate him? In fact he was overbearing, but like a spoiled and selfish kid, he didn't do that for bad, just because he hadn't been educated. His nature was affectionate and protective, but they never give him a chance to show it.

Who knows... Maybe I could educate him? I could change him. Teach him to control his impulses, to measure his attitudes. And then the other countries would know him and like him.

– Ivan – I asked quietly. – Would you like to change?

– Change? – he repeated, also whispering. – What do you mean?

– Well... – I didn't know properly how to start. – Sometimes you scare people a bit.

– Oh, this. Do you mean, change my manners so that people won't get afraid of me anymore? – pause. – Then I would have friends? – he asked, interested, staring at me and tilting his head like a bird… a giant bird.

– That's the idea. But you have to eliminate some of your habits that are not very healthy.

– Like...?

– Like this – I whispered, sliding my hand until the pocket of his shirt, while he held his breath, and fishing the flask of vodka. I lifted the flask to the level of his eyes, and received a small and malicious smile back.

– I think I will not relinquish _this_ – he murmured, smiley.

– Well, you could at least decrease consume – I begged. – And there are other things… You could at least listen when someone contradicts you. You don't even ponder the person's reasons.

– Contradict... – he repeated, slowly, as if testing the word. I goggle. My God, maybe this term not even existed in his vocabulary? But then he laughed, and I saw he was making fun of me. – Say, Erika, why should I do that? Ignoring avoids so much discussion that you couldn't even imagine.

My chin dropped; Ivan lifted it with a finger, laughing quietly. He was even cuter, if this is possible. I babbled:

– B-but discussions are necessary sometimes… to keep balanced relationships. No one likes to be ignored. You must yield to the will of the other, from time to time.

Ivan said nothing. He looked at me serenely for a long time, until _I_ started to feel awkward. I don't know if he was thinking about what I had just said; he had dressed that unreadable expression that was very his. But I guess that he was. Finally, he yawned. He was tired, and that's exactly what seemed.

– Sleep, Erika, _da_? – he whispered, closing his eyes and pressing me slightly so that I, who had uplifted to talk with him, would lay down again. I snuggled up closer to him, who shuddered again.

– _Spasibo_... – I murmured, sleepy, thanking for... well, for everything.

I received a fake snoring for an answer.

When I woke up in the next day, I looked to the side of the bed in which Russia had been, and found a plushy of a panda instead!

* * *

[1] Literally, "Pancake!"; in the coloquial form, "Shit".

Please, if you're reading it and liking it, make a happy writer: leave a comment! ^_^ So I know I'm not writing for the wind!


	11. The Reversals of Politics

I kept the plushy of panda for me. It was almost my size, with the whiff of mothballs of something that had been in the closet for decades.

My recovery was gradual, but steadfast. As soon as he got sure that I would be fine, in an bout of goodness, Russia gave some days free for the Baltics, which visibly (dark circles, meagerness, loss of hair, etc.) needed it. Soon the New Year came; I gifted Russia with a scarf of a manlier color and a handmade book I had written along the last year, with the translation of my favorite Brazilian poems and tales. I received from him an unusual pickaxe – "You never know when you'll need it", he commented. I also made scarfs (the only thing I can knit, because it's straight) to Latvia, Estonia and Lithuania, but I only could deliver it when they came back, after Christmas[1].

I didn't get sick again in that winter. He did; he got a cold after the encounter with General Winter, but got healed soon – for the sake of the steadiness of the house, which shook every time he sneezed. Russia wouldn't let me mess with snow anymore, but sometimes he would take me for a ride in the sleigh, and to do something outside of the house, so I wouldn't get crazy with the confinement. That's how I knew St. Petersburg, the Urals, and Vladivostok – my visit wouldn't be complete if I hadn't seen this place. And, of course, Moscow, where I visited the Kremlin, the famous and colored St. Basil Cathedral, and watched a show in the Bolshoi Ballet. Honestly, there are other dances manlier in that country.

Spring wasn't as flowery there as it is in Brazil, because flowers don't blossom in the mud; but as the summer grew nearer, the land succeeded in drinking all the melted snow, and the sunflowers started to dot the fields, what increased considerably Russia's good humor. He left the books and entertained in the i_dacha_/i, and with other outdoor activities, always carrying me with him, naturally. He had an enormous care for me; sometimes I thought that he considered me sort of a mascot, even Russicat was jealous of me – albeit I was the first to cosher that strange, colossal and scarier-than-his-owner cat.

Lithuania had a different opinion.

– Mr. Russia treats everybody like that, as if they belonged to him – he said, someday. – But I like you are here, you do him good. He's much more tolerant, with us, I mean, and it's been a whole month since he last talked about invading someone, have you noticed?

I would often chat with Lithuania, mainly in the times when Russia isolated himself and I had no one to talk with, what would happen sometimes, always of a sudden. Of all countries that served Russia, Lithuania was the one I would get along better, we had become close friends. In that afternoon, in the end of the summer, we were sat with my panda by the door of the house, observing Russia, the other two Baltics and Kazakhstan playing volley, while I helped Lithuania to sew Ivan's coat and socks.

– Yeah – I said. – Albeit you fear him for nothing, Toris… – I started, but he made me shut up with a gesture, and turned his back to me.

– Lift my shirt – he spoke, quietly. I did it. His back had long and white scars.

– É – eu disse. – Se bem que vocês tem medo dele à toa, Toris... – eu comecei, mas ele me fez calar com um gesto, e deu-me as costas. Remaining of whipping welts. I shuddered.

– It was he...? – I muttered in disbelief. Toris shook his head "yes".

– Do you think that when he says he's gonna drag someone tied to a horse or whatever, this is slapdash threatening? – he said, siting straight. – As naturally as he says, he does. It's true that he hasn't beaten me lately. After all, I spent a long time in America's house. Since I came back he has left me quiet… relatively.

I watched Russia playing with the ball, happy, in the most complete innocence. I knew he was cruel sometimes, but seeing him like that, it was hard to believe… What did not stop me from feeling sad and disappointed.

– I can't believe he does it for bad – I said. – I think he simply… don't have a good perception of the i_others_/i. Sometimes I have the impression that he lacks a screw in the head – I added, resting my chin on my hands.

– Quite probable – Lithuania agreed, stopping his work for a while to look at Russia too. – You know, Mr. Russia's history is a bloodbath, torture and misery. Because of the wars and the very chiefs he had, he suffered an awful lot. I think this made him to… lose the notion of the limits of pain or something, and of his own strength. I don't know if he understands that we're not all so wakeless.

Toris idea makes sense. However:

– The history of all European countries is also full of wars and other unleashed bloodlettings – I objected.

– And which of them is normal? – Lithuania asked, with a smile.

– Germany always looked quite reasonable to me... – I answered, embracing my knees.

– He invaded Russia twice in the last century. Who in their perfect mind would do that?

In the game, Ivan had just stroke the ball in a way that he almost straightened up Kazakhstan slant eyes. Yeah, Lithuania was right. I sighed.

– But as I said – he spoke, maybe in order to comfort me – your friendship has a positive influence on him. He had been wishing to imitate America's manners, and it was not working, he was just getting ridiculous and frustrated. And Mr. Russia frustrated is something that no one likes to see – Toris shuddered. – Your interest increased his self-esteem. I think he will end up much better if you stay here. He likes you a lot, because no one ever liked him for what he is, except… Natasha – Toris finished, blushing.

I grinned inside. He was talking about Belarus. Lithuania had a crush the size of a precipice on her. There goes something I can't understand: the git is afraid of Russia, but likes his sister, which is quite worse!

– Do you really think I could change him? – I asked, remembering the conversation I had with Ivan in that other night. Toris smiled.

– Human beings can change many things, as soon as they dedicate to it with all their strenght – he said, and couldn't add anything else, because Russia was coming to us with a large smile.

– Come play with us, you two! – he ordered.

– I have to finish this sewing, Mr. Russia – Lithuania protested.

– You have the whole autumn ahead to make it. I won't need it until the winter, anyway. Come – saying that, he lifted me by the waist, with the panda and all, and pulled Lithuania by his wrist, dragging us to the battl… ops, game field. – You will have to stay in the other team because I already have a short person in mine, alright, Erikushka? – he said, pointing at Latvia with his chin. – I'm sorry – "You won't be sorry in the end of the game", I thought, foreseeing the scores, but said nothing.

In fact; I'm a terrible déficit to any team, even in button soccer[2]. So that, however Estonia and Kazakhstan were good players, they couldn't compensate my flaws; and, naturally, Russia's mood got better when he won the game, what let everybody happy; sweaty, red and laughing, we went to have some snacks.

– See, Erikushka, you and Kazak look beautiful after a sun bath – Russia said, helping himself some gooseberry juice and observing me. – We other are red like roasted pigs – he laughed pleasantly, contagiously, so that we all started laughing too.

– Yeah, it's seems like I'm worthy for something – I shrugged.

– I bet you're better in football – said Latvia, shyly, trying to comfort me from my fail master in the volley. I laughed, and I was going to answer him not to put his hope on it, when the doorbell rang.

– I'm going! – Estonia shouted, forgetting his manners, in the relaxed atmosphere. He received a stern look from Russia and went immediately to answer the door.

When he came back, his face was upset, and he was trembling from the tiptoes to the top of the head. He had a letter in his hands. Without saying anything, he handed it to Russia. Ivan read the letter, and his smiling face did not change a comma, but everyone knew that the thing was serious, because he said softly:

– Blin! – and, after a while, he left the table, vanishing inside the house.

In order to understand what was going on, we need to come back a little and examine what had happened in Europe in this meanwhile. The idea of attacking Brazil had been boiled a little longer, but soon despised, what I had learned from Russia's spies. On the other hand, Europe's economy was practically jumping off a building, and since the United States also could not help much, because America was facing his own monetary problems, Europeans had turned his back on him and turned their mouths against each other, starting a session of blaming and offending that could not result in anything good. Until the moment when Portugal gave a tremendous – and deserved – slap on Romano's face, and Spain horned his back, in reply. France came to aid Portugal and England started to beat France. In this meanwhile, Veneziano had already gone ask Germany to help, but he refused, until the moment when Poland treaded on his minor toe, thinking he was hitting England, and Germany entered in the war, shooting everywhere, bringing with him Austria and the Netherlands. The thing became hell, and since one month ago they were fighting, all against all. We already knew those facts, and Russia had announced his steady purpose of not getting involved this time. He was very well where he was, in the moment.

However, war persecuted him. Estonia had gone after Russia, so the rest of us leaned to read the letter that was on the table. It was written in a multitude of different letters and said the following:

"We're going to catch you, BASTARDO. _Retour _ La MiTAd **dell'Europa** that you occupy, betrunkene Schwein! TUDO O QUE SE COLOCAR NO NOSSO CAMINHO SERÁ DERRUBADO."[2]

It bore no signature, but it was not needed.

Even the sunflowers got pale in that afternoon.

* * *

[1] Keep in mind that Russian Christmas is commemorated in January 7th, and it's an essentially religious party. They commemorate New Year like we do with Christmas, with food, gifts and all.

[2] _"We're going to catch you, bastard. Give back the half of the Europe that you occupy, drunken pig. Everything that is put in our path will be knocked down."_ Europeans thought of solving their problems uniting against a common enemy. Many of them don't consider properly European those countries that have lands in Asia too (like Russia and Turkey), so Russia would be surely the chosen one, considering Hidekaz's joke of "everything is Russia's fault anyway". Please don't misinterpret it: about the war, I don't think that this would happen in reality. I just thought it was a good literary resource, 'cause as Russia is such a militarized country, I needed a war for the story, in order to show some shades of his personality.

If you leave me a review, saying what you think about the story, I would be very glad.


	12. At The First Snowfall

Two days ago, the enemy army had invaded Lithuania and Letonia's houses. Estonia was also having problems at his borders, and I hadn't seen them for more than one week. I was worried about them, but even more worried because I knew that, anytime now, Russia would go to war.

He had been silent, grim. He would carry the pipe wherever he went, busy in the preparations, piling groceries, making weapons. He was hardly speaking to me, and never about the war to come. But I was watching his every movement, and I knew when the day came.

The first snow was falling. The wind, although calm, was already quite cold. After the dinner, I didn't see Russia anymore. I picked up a book and tried to read; I persevered on it into the night, reading the same paragraph five times because every moment I would sharpen my ear or look to the door, in order to spot any sign of his presence. Shortly after midnight, I went to look for him. Disturbed and inattentive, I end up lost in the house again, but around two and a half, I caught a glimpse of him from a window in the second floor. He was on the porch of a little wooden cottage, which was connected to the main part of the house by a corridor.

I took a while to get there. Ivan was sat on the guardrail, thoughtful. Beside him there was a military backpack, and some guns. Coming from inside, I stopped at the door, not daring to interrupt the thread of his thoughts. However, after a while, he spoke.

– Go back inside, Erika. It's cold. You don't want to get sick again – he said, kindly.

– I'm well wrapped – I assured, approaching him. – But if you want, I..

– No, stay.

He took his military cloak from the backpack and threw it over my shoulders. Then he continued to stare ahead, with a stern face. I didn't know what to speak, then I simply stood there beside him, quiet. Hours must have passed, until Ivan broke the long silence.

– You'll have to fend for yourself in the next days, you may have difficulty to find food and firewood, and as I do not know how much time it will last, you'd better save.

– You're talking about the... – I said, shyly.

– Yes, the war – he completed, serene.

– I've never been in a war – I muttered, nervous, rubbing my arm under the cloak with my gloved hand, and drawing closer to Ivan.

– And it's not now that you will be – he said steadily. – I won't let them get here. I won't give them not even one inch.

Our breath turned into little clouds in front of us, and my nose was cold.

– When are you going... there? – I asked, referring to the battlefield.

– Any moment now – he answered. – I'm just waiting for the signal.

– Ivan... Take care, right? – I muttered, with a knot in my throat and a weight in the stomach. – Don't… don't die – I asked. He addressed me a little and pale smile.

– I won't. I'm strong. I always come back badly wounded, but it's not so easy to finish me. Just… – his face darkened – do you know? I hate it all. War, again and again. After all, _what_ did I do against them? For what to invade my house, what do they want here? There's only ice and more ice! Will they never get tired? Because I am tired, Erika, very tired... – he blurted, turning his face to me and shaking his head lightly.

The painful expression in those violet eyes melted my heart. Impulsively, I leaned and kissed Ivan, entwining his neck with my hand. He gasped, surprised, but responded, placing a hand on my waist and the other in the back of my head, the long and cold fingers buried in my hair.

– _Ya lyublyu tebya_, Erika – he muttered, when we parted.

– _Ya tebya lyublyu toje, Vanya_[1] – I replied, hiding my face in his chest.

Silence.

– Erika, if things get ugly here, promise me you'll come back to your country.

– No, Ivan, I will wait for you to come back.

– Don't be silly – he said, serious. – I don't want you to be forced to eat human flesh to survive – he completed. I let go of him, shivering. He sighed. – You do not belong to this reality. Cold and wars, I mean. I ask you to stay as long as I can keep you safe from these things. But if I fail, go.

I replied nothing. I didn't have an answer in that moment. The grey line in the horizon grew a little lighter, and a trumpet sounded.

– I need to go – he said. – Do you allow… – he hesitated, red – do you allow me to give you one more kiss? – he asked.

I shook my head positively. He leaned and pressed his lips against mine tightly and hurriedly, putting something on my hand, a sort of crumpled paper. After, he quickly lifted his backpack over his shoulder, took the guns and the pipe, and left without speaking, without looking back.

I opened the paper. It was a page torn from a book. Poetry.

_"Wait for me, and I'll be back,_

_Should you wait me strong._

_Wait for me when sky is black_

_And the sun has gone,_

_Wait for me when it is cold,_

_And when it is hot,_

_Wait for me when others don't,_

_'Cause they just forgot._

_Wait in case you don't receive_

_Letters from the front,_

_Wait, and I will outlive,_

_If you really want._

_Wait for me, and I'll be back._

_Don't you talk to those_

_Gluing me a dead man tag._

_That's a wrong suppose._

_Let my relatives believe_

_That I am the past,_

_Let my friends forget and give_

_Funeral repast._

_They will drink a glass of wine_

_For the peace of soul..._

_You just wait and don't make time,_

_Do not raise the bowl._

_Wait for me, and I'll be back,_

_Disregard the fate,_

_In the morning with my bag,_

_Should you only wait._

_They will hardly understand,_

_How I could survive._

_Waiting me from foreign land,_

_You have saved my life._

_Let them say that it's too late._

_What you feeling tells?_

_I'll be back, because you wait_

_Like nobody else." __**[2]**_

In the horizon, some flashes lit up the sky, more than the rising sun. And below the song of the birds, the few who had not migrated for the winter, you could hear the roar of the cannons in the distance. It was the war.

* * *

[1] "I love you" e "I love you too". "Vanya" is the most common of the millions of nicknames for Ivan.

[2] Poet: Konstantin Simonov.


	13. Battlefield

_Guys... I'm so sorry for the delay in translating it... I was REALLY busy with studies and more, this is such a huge chapter indeed, so it took more time to be translated. I warn you that the next is big too. But I will translate it, just be patient. I hope you like it, anyway. It's Russia's POV._

* * *

**_October 27th _**

I am far from home, already. How do I know? No, I haven't looked back – it's never something wise to do when you're going to meet an irreversible fate. Just that the sound of the explosions comes nearer, and the minutes pass – after all, I'm walking, not stepping in the same spot. And my feet are hurt.

In fact it's pointless to worry about that. With the aching feet, I mean. It's even a good sign – it means I still have feet. It may look like a stupid statement in a normal situation, but in war it means to be lucky. And although I have not gotten to the front yet, I already i_am/i_ in the war. There's lack of food, I don't sleep a quarter of what I need, and if my feet ache like now, I can't stop to rest, I have to march on. Until they bleed, if necessary. But there's no reason to complain about i_that_/i. Compared to all the blood that I'll see in the days to come…

A plane just passed over me. i_Blin/i…_ twice calmer if I knew my house is safe. Well, I don't have wings; I can't do anything against this one. I hope she knows how to activate the defenses. And that she thinks about it. In this time, it's not a benefit to have been raised in a country that nobody attacks. Geez, it's hard to believe that it does exist.

It was a long way from my house. The indwelling of Lithuania has collapsed by half. That retard, Poland, wasn't able to hold the invader not even for ten days. The front is in the east of Kovno[1]. Lithuania is trying to recapture the city; I'll help him; if I succeed, I will claim it for me. Little by little, he'll be one with Mother Russia again.

Honestly, those guys have to make better boots. Their quality have fallen a lot in the last years. If the snow was a bit thicker, my fingers would have frozen and fallen already. As soon as I come back home, the men responsible for it will be found and executed.

See: tore up!

**_November 1st _**

I got to the front the day before yesterday. I already fixed by boots. Anyway, this is provisory. Later I may take it from a corpse. The problem will be the size.

I said I got to the front, but it's more correct to say that the front got to me. We're no longer in Kovno. We had to run to Daugavpils, in Latvia's house, because Lithuania was taken as a prisoner. I don't know if Germany will keep him this time, he's sort of worn-out of sustaining poor countries, but he has this irremediable hunger for territories. I really don't know. Maybe they'll give him to America again. Albeit he is not in this war... yet... and I don't think that they would give him one cent for good. He could swear that everybody loves him, that git. Poor thing.

The worst of all is that I lost three fingers in the left hand. They took my province of Kaliningrad and everything around it. Germany wouldn't give it back even if I paid for it; it was his land someday. It hurt, but I couldn't do anything, I was very far from it as I still am.

Let it be, I'll catch them. I just have to find them, they hide like snakes. In fact, I don't even know how many of them are shooting on us. Maybe all of them, or just one, with very powerful guns. Well, probably not all of them, someone is bothering Estonia hardly up there. I would run to help him, if Latvia wasn't in a more dreading situation. Winter caught him bad this time, he suffers with fever. He almost hasn't strength to shoot, and we lose land every day. Darned large border I have. Well, everything will be fine in the end.

**_November 8th _**

I lost Latvia too. I was sleeping when they caught him. Naturally, they beat me to kill, but I jumped awake in time and got to throw them away before they finished me. What takes my sleep away is that only England and Germany came do it. Where are France, Spain, Italy and the others, then? I hope to discover it before they tell me in the bad way.

**_November 12th_**

I figured out; only, my spies got here too late, because I was always watching the thing happen.

Those damned ones invaded my sisters! And they would have invaded Finland, if he hadn't let them pass. Later I'll settle my accounts with that coward. Now they march through five ways towards me. I don't doubt that someone may be trying to enter by Siberia too. I'll better strengthen the defense in that side, send there at least half a Company, and General Winter makes the rest of the work – it's his area.

Well then, where should I concentrate? If they defeat Belarus, they have the way open to Moscow; it's from there that I am shooting down who enters from Latvia. But Estonia can't stand it anymore, and from his house to St. Petersburg you get in two steps. Well then?

I don't worry about Ukraine; they sent the Italy brothers there. I wonder how Germany still believes, after so many proofs of the contrary, that those two are worthy for something. She will defeat them in a blink of the eye. This if they don't fall in love with her, in which case they are in danger.

Ai, little sis... Hold on a bit more, you're brave. I come back soon. I have to succor that bookworm.

**_November 23th_**

_Slava Bogu, slava Bogu!__**[2]**_ We managed to hold them in Paide. They have half the house of Estonia, but do not advance anymore. I made huge leaks in England's legs. He fled crawling. I don't know how, but he's good in running away. Now I only fight Germany here. I believe England went to help France against Belarus. As soon as we settle the base in Paide, I'll run to her aid.

Ukraine will make the work easier for me, luring Germany to far from here. I adjusted with her that she should let the Italians come in, and then imprison them. Any moment now Doistu will receive a phone call, and I use his distraction to finish the barriers that are building and depart to Minsk. The front is just under, in Baranavichy. I'll rest a couple of hours before going down there, lately I almost don't stop.

The night is pleasant. The guys commemorate. They dance, sing. Russian and Estonian songs. Estonia, next to me, seems to be glad that I am here, in spite of the permanent grimace of pain in his face. How would it not ache?, he's cut in the half.

– Calm down, boy – I tell him. – We'll retake the rest too.

– And Latvia? And Lithuania? – he asks, anxious.

– Of course.

– Can I ask something, Mr. Russia? Don't take revenge on Finland.

– ...

– He was just afraid. He likes you, sir, he backpedaled, didn't he? – Estonia barefacedly lied. Finland had indeed backpedaled, and stopped the advance of the Europeans in Oulo and Imatra, but just because he fears ime/i more than all of those Europeans together, and I… had stopped by there. I just have to worry about that side again if Sweden decides to join the war. Albeit it would be funny to see the despair in Fin's eyes.

– Mr. Russia? – Estonia called, suspecting of my silence.

– Drink vodka, Eesti[3]. You'll stop feeling your missing part.

But that is my lie. Not even vodka heals some things.

**_December 6th_**

The plan about the Italians worked out perfectly: I had no troubles in my way to Minsk, and we already made France and England retreat to Kobrin. It was incredibly easy. In this time I didn't use strength, but smartness. I crawled into the English encampment, while Belarus went to the French, and we stole some of their guns. Then, we placed ourselves in the divisions of their encampments, narrowly escaping from the watchmen eyes, and we shot France with English guns and England with French guns. As we walked away hastily, we could already hear the uproar. As they were fighting each other, we surprised them when we attacked them ahead later, and we splendidly repelled them.

It was a victory to sing about. There was a lot of blood, however, in this battle and in all those that we fought there. I and Belarus fighting together… we make feats, it's true… but our hands always end incredibly dirty.

**_December 15th _**

If things go on like that, I'll send them home before Christmas. Their Christmas, by the way. Three days ago I came back to Estonia, and we quietly marched through the country, setting every village free. Belarus wanted to come with me, as our enemies are no longer bothering her. I thought it was best to send her to help Ukraine: she still retains the Italians, and she's in an ugly swoop with Germany, who's trying to rescue them.

We're in the Southern border, planning an attack to retake the entire Latvia for once.

Yesterday I received a letter from Erika. I was already thinking that she had forgotten me and gone back to her country. That would be a wise thing to do, in fact. But no; she sends her love to Estonia, and says she's sorry about my fingers, worried about me, and that she's fine. She asks if I don't want her to send me some more clothes, after all, the worst of the winter is coming. Some parts of the epistle are crossed out; I would like to read it, I hate this mail censorship. Moreover, someone brought the stupid idea of limiting the letters to one page only, so that the postmen won't carry too much weight. Haha, this probably made her mad, Erika likes so much to write. "Coragem![4]", she smashed in the corner of the letter. It's written in her language, but my little friend already taught me what does it mean. "This", she said someday, "is one of the things I like the most about you, Vanya."

Yeah, _dorogaya__**[5]**_, I will need courage tomorrow. But I'm trustful, you know? Everything conspires in our favor; we cut the enemy lines like butter. Perhaps not the Christmas, but the New Year we may spend together? So don't send the clothes. Or send, if you want, send anything to make me think about you. It's always a good way to preserve ourselves in such a place. Now I run and go to write a reply, quickly, ere the messenger depart again.

**_December 17th_**

It was... it was a damned trap!

We (I, Estonia, Belarus and Ukraine, and Chechnya, that I had taken with me) entered until the half of Latvia calmly. We stopped in Koknese, next to the river, to rest; we settled our camp and commemorated in great style, until late night; we ended up with all the drinks, which were not many, in spite of Estonia's alert to keep sober because in the next day we would make still another investee and retake Lithuania.

In the middle of the night, they fell upon us. There were mortars, grenades, bazookas, machine guns, and maybe even arrows and doubting maces – only atomic bombs and chemical weapons were missing, because America (yet, what really amazes me) had not joined the war.

The result of it? Latvia imprisoned by them again; Estonia, Belarus and Ukraine also conquered, because they had left their territories nearly without soldiers to help me. And I, well, I'm _really _back home before Christmas. Bleeding through all the pores, with wounds the size of plates, and with the enemy right behind my back.

I dragged myself to Smolensk, old walled city, where I billeted. I stood on the fence and shot until I fainted. I think I pulled them away for a while. In the end, I'm alive, nothing else matters.

**_January 11th _**

Four days ago it was Christmas, but only today we received the mail. It took less time than in the last time, because then we were farther away.

Erika wrote to me again, naturally. She sent me one more coat, socks, and the cloak I had forgotten with her. The letter also mentions a Christmas cake, but no clue of the actual cake got to me. The ink was blotted here and there. Cry. The fiasco in Koknese must have come to her ears, at least part of it. Anyway, it's not easy to hide a military disaster of this proportion.

The limit of one page once again impeded her to say much, even though she smashed the writing. I would like if she had lost more space with demonstrations of fondness, or telling that my huskies are fine and by the way Belila's puppies already are born. No, my friend is objective; she said I needed allies and listed some countries that maybe would accept my purpose, she even gave some ideas of what I could tell them, in the little room that was left in the paper.

Considering her origins, she probably played "War"[6] a lot in order to acquire such a skilled mind to politics. This idea made me laugh. _And_ cry. Wonderful, now I'm emotive, it's all that I needed, argh!

Damn it all, I will write to her, and as much as I want! I don't care if they cross out the whole letter, I don't care if they'll rip the exceeding pages, or if she never receive it. At least I put it all out.

And I redacted an actual treatise… about the war, and everything that surrounded me. There were even some excerpts in poetry, and things that I couldn't express but drawing. I folded it all, smashed into an envelope and delivered to the messenger without looking at his face. That I climbed to the top of the wall to watch, and felt an urge to laugh at the postman, as if I had played a trick on him. But I muffled this urge, because if I started to burst in laughter in the top of the wall, I'd become an easy target.

The night was calm, not much bombing. Well, because a snowstorm was going on. The cloak arrived right in time. General Winter had not carried on us with all his strength until then, but now it seemed he would do it. (Sigh). I just wanted a quiet corner to sleep.

**_January 12th_**

I decided to follow Erika's advice. I successfully settled up things in order to hide my departure, and I flew over Europe on a concealed plane. I landed in Greece's house. The little maid that opened me the door shivered and ran away. Oh my, this kind of reaction makes me sick, sometimes.

Within a while, there came Greece, shuffling his steps. A snail outstripped him, I swear. Anyway, I have some respect for this guy; his mom was, partly, my mastermind.

– Come in, Russia – he said, calling me inside with a wave of the hand. I followed him to the office. Greece's house (the part of it that is not ruins, I mean) has wide and tall rooms, with decorated columns and black and white tiles in the floor. In the office, the walls had been covered with red velvet. There were no paintings or statues, because all of them had been stolen. Greece leaned on a divan; he didn't invite me to sit, but I know it was not solecism, he's really absent-minded. – Say… what do you want?

I hesitated for a second. No, it was pointless to pretend that this was simply a cordial visit, for friendship. Everybody knows I'm in war.

– I want you to help me, to fight by my side – I said, then.

Greece looked at me for a long while. I almost could _see_ the information entering his ears and going to the brain, very slowly, and then coming back with the answer.

– My people don't have enough to eat in times of peace, and do you want me to get involved in a war? – he said, at last.

– Yeah – I answered. He raised his eyebrows. – Com'on, I'll pay you. I send some loads of wheat over here while we fight, and even after. Russia is big, even if we fight during ten, fifteen years, they won't conquer all of my croplands. I… I share my food with you.

– No, thank you. I don't want to get trouble with Germany. In the end, still depend on him. Financially, I mean.

– Do you think it will last for long, da? He soon will cut the resources and dot, it's the end for you! Kolkolkol – I said, nervous. Greece shrugged, as if who says "Patience!". Argh, these Europeans and his pride make me sick. I sighed. – Greece… please… for the Orthodox priests of Russia – I implored, appealing to his religious side.

– There are some still? – he questioned, slightly surprised. – I thought you had killed them all in the last century.

I blushed.

I left the house of Greece, cursing him, promising myself that I would take his land as soon as the opportunity arose. I really didn't have the intention to do it, because these lands aren't worth a penny nowadays. And then we remember that they once were privileged to be located near the sea.

But my affairs were not finished there in that afternoon. Still trying to hide, I crossed the border, went to visit Turkey. I won't say I love that masked face; the round domes of his buildings are practically the only thing that attracts me. We've had our problems in the past, serious problems. I hope he will consider that "in the past".

Turkey's house looks like a harem. That's all I have to say.

– What do you want, _Rassiya_? – he asked, with debauchery, imitating pronunciation of my own name. He was still wearing that mask, dressed in a beige tunic, and was also sprawled on a couch with a girl on his left, serving him a hot drink, while another shook a wide fan on the right. Bah. If it was hot, he just had to just extinguish the fireplace. I restrained myself and said only what was necessary:

– I want you to be my ally.

– _You_?! – he choked with the drink, propelling the body forward. – Of all people ... Look, the ironies of history ... I thought you would ask food, minerals, weapons ...

– Will you be my ally or not? – I cut, calm. On the outside.

– What are the terms? – he asked, resting his chin in his hand.

– Well, well... – I scratched my head. – We can negotiate part of Chechnya's production.

– Low – he said, uninterested.

– All that Chechnya produces – I raised the price.

– Give me the territory once for all! – he exclaimed.

– Ok, the territory! But only if you send me the reinforcements _tomorrow._

– The offer is really tempting... – Turkey commented, patting the stubble of his beard – but I refuse – he completed, with a mean smile. I felt an urge to pluck his guts out.

– Why? – I asked, in a hoarse voice.

– Ah. So many years oppressing my Muslim brothers in Afghanistan, Pakhstan and all the others, in the old Soviet Union. I rather want. You to. Blow up – he replied, with a evil laugh.

I restrained with difficulty the hand that has descending to the neck of the Turkish, and went stomping away before he could deliver me for my enemies. On the plane, I ate one of the banks of pure rage – and headed east. I had gone out that day to seek allies, and I wouldn't come back without them.

When I returned to Smolensk, I was taking Armenia, Kazakhstan, and Azerbaijan with me, and I was calmer.

**_January 28th_**

They took Smolensk too. And St. Petersburg, in the north. We are cornered in Gagarin. Two steps else and we deliver Moscow. I WILL NOT walk these two steps.

**_ February 18th_**

_Krov'__**[7]**_. Blood, blood, blood, guts and death. Corpses. People reduced to dust. My own body being pierced like a sieve. It seems like I not even feel it anymore. A sting; I look; there is this red liquid gushing. "Who cares", I think. "I just wanna make theirs gush too."

I didn't retreat. I keep my position in Gagarin since ten days ago. There's lack of food, I'm drenched and cold, I die slowly, with every shot, but I give my shots too. Oh yeah! Every scratch in my body costs them dear. Finally General Winter reached us, and he hits them much harder than on me. Our wars today are much quicker, but more devastating due to the quality of the weapons. I was also up to no good, don't think the contrary. So I should let them take St. Peter and send bombs to Moscow for free? I sent some gifts to Paris and Berlin, too. London is the next target, as soon as they slow down the charge here. I heard that they are trying to make America join the war. It means that the necessary is starting to lack. I'm rooting for him to not come. But if he comes, I do not care. I kill him too, or at least try.

All of my cities in the West are burnt. I burn everything that I have to leave behind. I'd rather starve than let them take advantage of my cereal, my premises, my products, except as their funeral pyre.

Truly I don't spend all my time in this acre humour. At night, I sit around the fire with the men, while they sing sad songs about the _front_. But not even those poignant words or the sound of harmonica move me the same way. Shortly, so much crimson will sweep any kind of feeling off my soul. I'm animalyzing.

I received a letter from Erika yesterday. Luckily I was around the fire in that moment, or I could have thrown it away without opening it. I don't even know if I understood the words. My eyes got clouded, and I felt a terrible discomfort, despair, as if my heart was being ripped into tiny pieces and thrown to the wind. It wasn't the pain of losing the heart, I had felt worst pains. The bad was the empty space left… and the idea of what I would become after that.

There wasn't paper to answer the letter. There wasn't ink either. I took a stick and wet it in one of my latest wounds, scribbling with him my request for help on the reverse of the epistle:

_Molis' Bogu za menya. Ya skhoju s uma.__**[8]**_

**_March 5th_**

The winter, old comrade, never fails with me. He came late this year, I hope he goes away late too.

We fight in open field now. They were expelled from the surroundings of Gagarin. They still try to keep Petersburg for themselves, but with Chechnya's troops encamped in Sosnovyy Bor, this won't last much. Spain is alone in there, anyway, and crazy to come out, if at this extent he hasn't become a Popsicle yet. We're sheltered by the woods, so most battles are fought at night, when we risk going out into the steppes and pick the enemy.

The province of Bryansk is contaminated with radiation even today, because of Chernobyl, what let Germany's, France's and England's hair standing; they're crazy to go out of here. I even nourished the hope that they would voluntarily retreat, but I woke up to reality in the worst of ways.

It was night, and I had gone out, to see if I could bleed some Germans before coming back to my encampment and sleep some minutes. It was cloudy, and a layer of mist was covering the layer of snow. I went down a hill, I found myself in a moor. No sign of them. That was worrisome. I placed my pipe back in the belt, and raised the rifle, marching with him on standby. Nobody yet. I came to the edge of the field; it narrowed, and later led to a swamp surrounded by two woods.

As I went down this way, my ears caught the sound of broken leaves, coming from both sides. I pricked up my ears; heavy and muffled footsteps on the right. Germany! I carefully approached the other wood. There was noise too, who could be there? Suddenly I felt a slight smell of pipe smoke. There is my answer: England. Sensing the worst, I glanced over my shoulder. Three or four figures, one of whom, fat, were approaching through the mist. The far just could be Portugal. The others… the Italy brothers? Yes, surely Veneziano was there; one of the thin ghosts was specially _lively_. I could knock them down, maybe? No, they were idiots, but they outnumbered me.

The solution was to escape through the swamp. I dived my feet and soon knelt down in the snow, throwing the rifle over my shoulder, because I would have to use my hands to avoid sliding in the badly frozen mud. I crawled about two meters and then heard some growling:

–...why do _I_ always have the worst part? When they don't invade my house, forcing me to seek shelter in the sewers, they put me to crawl in the mud! The idea had to come from that damned tea drinker! All of this because he dies of envy of my beautiful hair, he's crazy to spoil them. But let it be, let it be that some of this mud will land in your tea!

"France!", I found out, feeling my stomach sink. I was surrounded by the enemy! I retreated quickly, out of the swamp. Their movements were more evident now, but I think they still couldn't see me. Well then, what to do? Stand up and shoot everywhere? No, this is suicide, they would surely take me.

What if I caught France as an hostage? I narrowed my eyes in the dark, trying to spot that creature. He was still considerably far, and as the growling continued, I suppose he hadn't noticed me. I gave one more step towards him. "No, it isn't worthy. Even if I used him as an human shelter, they would not hesitate to shoot. Maybe they'd even shoot more pleasantly."

I sigh, dispirited. There's no possible escape, only six feet down the earth. Down… I start to dig the snow with my hands, despairingly. Within fifteen minutes, there was already a considerable covert. I minded in bringing the earth and snow back to the top of me; after I would dig more, to make the place more comfortable. Not for my grave, I hope.

Right in time! In a split second, I heard the command voice of Germany.

– Rest! England, everything fine on your side?

– I have encountered no barbarian, if that's what you mean – England answered dryly. – But this darned cold! – he puffed. – I want some hot beer.

– Cold! – France snarled. – You don't even know what it is! By the way it was you who came creeping on the mire? You're going to drink your own hot blood, when I break all of your tee…

– Don't fight, don't fight! – Veneziano implored. – We are all fine, isn't it?

– Italy is right – Doitsu said. He was obviously retaining France's wrist, and this other, struggling to break free. – Don't you both remember what happened in the last time you started to fight, in the surroundings of Minsk? – he reproached. Silence. – And you, France, stop complaining. We couldn't have come all by the same way, we would be easy prey.

– You say it because it wasn't you who…

– Portugal, the report – Germany asked, impatient.

– Well then. The guys are encamped there on, a little above. They're armed down to the d*****, from the top of the heads to the fat bums – he really has a dirty mouth, this brother of Spain. – You know what? I would prefer if I had not gotten involved on it! – he exclaimed, with a strong accent and even stronger bad humor.

– Do they make any idea that we shifted our encampments? – England asked.

– Oh, no, I assure you. But, you see, it was close, I almost had to shut these two with a super shot. Besides discussing all the way, when we got close to the cluster, they were ready to launch themselves upon the vodkas of the men, and this is to ask for death[9].

– Ai, Doitsu! – gemeu Veneziano, ao levar uma bofetada.

–What did you want?! It's been two months since I last put a drop of wine in my throat; that snot was the only way to keep warm – Romano muttered, apparently placing the jaw back into place.

– He's right – England commented.

– Stop the whimpering! It isn't s-so c-cold! I faced worst winters in this place m-myself – Doitsu blustered, although he was feeling shivers.

– At last, let's go to what matters – Germany said, when everybody had shut their mouths. – Do you already know what you have to do tomorrow?

– Stay out of the wait and don't disturb – Italy repeated the lesson, helpfully.

–...and shoot if anybody tries to escape – Romano completed.

– France? – Germany asked. The blonde grinned maliciously.

– I have to take his cutie sisters and pretend I'm demeaning them, to provoke him – he recited. – I don't know if I'll only pretend… – and laughed, making my blood boil. I almost performed the zombie and pulled his leg, so that we could settle our accounts down here.

– Portugal and England, you shall hold Armenia, Kazakhstan and Azerbaijan, so that they will not be able to help him. And _I_ take care of Russia – Germany said, a glare of pure hatred enlightening his blue eyes.

– Be realist, Germany. You're no match for Russia, alone – England said, slightly sneering, puffing his pipe.

– I won't be alone, the Italians will stay nearby too.

– You'll be alone – repeated England.

– Are you worried? – Germany asked, dryly.

– Not exactly – the other replying, refilling the pipe. – But less one ally is always less one ally, even if it's you.

– Just shut this mouth and do your work. About midday, lead them to the southeast. Russia will come here, in the opposite direction. I'll take him. We'll soon have Moscow – and they went quiet again, dreaming with the possibility. – Now, arm your tents and all to bed.

The noise increased, while they were setting the encampment in the space between the two forests, and diminished as, little by little, they fell asleep; just a few grumbling of the sentinels could be heard here and there. Meanwhile, I was digging, digging, digging...

**_April 2nd _**

Today I will catch them! Today I put my hand on them and I don't wanna see how this will end.

That information received by chance was greatly useful to save both of my sisters. I came across the swamp with the nails bleeding of the much digging; two nails had fallen, apart from the clothes torn because of the stones. But it doesn't matter, because I arrived early, there were still two hours before dawn. It gave me time to take my steps and escape of their wiles.

I sent someone to my encampment, with instructions to secretly empty it, taking only the guns and leaving the rest behind. Armenia, Kazakhstan and Azerbaijan should stay, however, and prepare to imprison Portugal and England as soon as they approached. After, they should ride to the north and help Chechnya to pluck that damned Spain out of St. Petersburg before she exploded the city, driving then to Finland's house, in order to convene him to join me or pay the price. With or without his support, they should go and set Estonia free.

I didn't ask for any of them to come in my aid, unless my own soldier, because I was quite confident that I would release Ukraine and Belarus, and they are good enough allies. I managed to get to our triple border by the hour of the dawn, and in fact, there they were, tied back to back, and that idiot France throwing them pickup lines, stroking the hair of one, stealing a kiss from another.

Aaah... but even now I can remember his face when he saw me! He was waiting to see me, it's true, but not so early and much less so close. I lifted him by that mucky hair when he had leaned to examine more carefully the… superior attributes of Ukraine.

– Yooouuu? – he squeezed, desperate, going white as chalk in the same instant. – But Germany didn't… Damn! I was betrayed! Attack him, Pierre!

I threw him to the ground with a punch worthy of an Olympic medal.

As for the gaggling bird that tried to peck my hand, I grabbed it and shoved it in my purse to feed to my cat, after.

– Aiaiai... Listen, Russia, this is all ... is just a misunderstanding! – he exclaimed, desperate, dragging away from me on his back as I advanced towards him, having cut with a blow the ropes that were bounding my sisters. – I am but a decoy, I follow orders, I didn't do it for baaaad! I would never hurt two _petites femmes _so beautiful!

I didn't want to hear anything. I simply marched towards him, and I can wonder the fear I caused him, covered with blood and with my face definitely sinister, considering the hardness I felt on the inside. I had already decided to geld him.

– Lend me the knife, Bel – I asked, in a low voice.

– No! What are you going to do? No! Please! Behead me, but not this! – France had an hysterical fit when understood my intention, and almost escaped. My sisters had to hold him while I bent over him. – S'il vous plaaaaît[10]... – he whimpered, while I sharpened the knife on my boot. – I follow you to the end of the world, you can keep my lands for you, but have pity!...

Without hearing, because I was about to get his territory anyway, I tore his pants in a first foray, and was sending down the knife again when Ukraine held my hand.

– Enough time lost with him, Rus – she adviced. – We still have a lot to do, we have to set Poland free, and the other boys too. After you finish it.

France fainted. We tied him, and after the two of them awakened him with kicks, forcing him to stand up and go before us. We went immediately to Poland in a forced march. Busy with me, Germany and others had relaxed the surveillance at his house. The hardest thing there was to convince him to come with us; Poland is somewhat ... suspicious with me, so to speak. He swears he will dominate me and that my capital will be Warsaw someday. But in the end he's a Slav, a relative, I cannot leave him in the hands of Germany, otherwise I put Lithuania and my Kaliningrad Oblast at high risk.

Poland was weak, so he wasn't of great help, especially because he shoots pell-mell, but he strode with us to Lithuania's house. At this point, the Germany had already noticed that I had fooled him and, seeing the situation get darker, he went with the Italians to billet in Latvia.

It was a little harder to rescue Lithuania; we fought for two weeks under strong fire. We had huge casualties, but eventually managed to close them at the border with Latvia, I regained my fingers, and as a bonus, we captured Romano.

We were tired, truly jaded, and all very hurt, but we wouldn't stop now. Especially because the winds were good to us: Chechnya and the others had also succeeded in their mission, and now they were marching, along with Finland and Estonia, over the North border of Latvia. Only the little boy was missing to our team be complete. We carried the prisoners with us, watching them without blinking the eye for a moment, for they were slippery creatures; that's comprehensible, by the way.

Germany's tireless shots were the only thing that separated us from complete victory, and the punches he gave on Veneziano to stop him from shaking the white flag. He knew the war was lost, but he wanted to fight until the end. Very well, 'cause I also wanted. My hatred for him had risen to unimaginable levels. Napping, I dreamed of plucking those icy blue eyes and throw to the ravens, to make new strings for my balalaika with his guts, impale him, or tie his body to four horses, urging them in different directions, to snap him. But I had to catch him first.

They were trapped, camped under Gaizinkalns, a hill nearby the town of Madona, in Latvia. I and my allies surrounded the mount. They fired incessantly at anyone who approached, so we decided to simply besiege them – no one goes in, no one comes out, an some time the hunger would take them out of there. The hunger of Germany, of course, because Italy had become unconscious due to his.

We would have remained like that as many days as needed, concentrated only in shoot down planes that tried to provide relief, but an event precipitated our triumph.

Suddenly, the shots diminished sensibly. He would shoot just if we got close. Testing, I came closer and closer, not caring if eventually some bullet hit me. Suddenly I heard a scream and a jump in the camp, and Italy came running to the edge, frantically waving the flag of peace. Almost immediately, Germany jumped on him and neutralized him, but this time Italy seemed to be resisting.

– No, Doitsu, stop! Let me wave my gmfpdghmf! – then came a shout of Germany's, which seemed to have been bitten, and Italy screamed: – Mr. Russia, I want to surrender, take me here, please find me a bit of pasta and wine! Release me, Doitsu, let me go, you stay if you want! – I saw the little curl of Veneziano showing over the canvas that worked as walls of the encampment. "Doitsu" seemed to have attended the appeal. This made the "winophile" feel pity. – Don't stay, come with me! Mr. Russia is going to be nice, I know that down deep he is! – "Poor thing", I thought. – Oh, Doitsu, why to linger here? You not even have more weap…

– Shut up this mouth! – shouted Germany, furious, knocking down and silencing his friend. Too late: I had already gotten it.

– Attack – I said, simply, without raising my voice, and we all threw ourselves simultaneously on the tents.

At the same time when Italy run towards his brother, being held by Finland, Germany was shooting his last bullets and grenades desperately in me, throwing after the very guns, the pans and the tents. Walking slowly towards him, I grabbed them on the air and cracked them as if they were sticks; the feeling of revenge in the hole where my soul should be was electrifying.

– At last – I growled, grabbing him by the collar of his uniform, and dragging him to the others.

– Hello, Russia – he said, with an icy grin. – So we meet again.

– Yes, again, Germany. Again you invaded my land. Have you done the math? In less than one hundred years, this is the third time.

* * *

[1] Kaunas. Kovno is the name in Russian.

[2] Thanks God, thanks God!

[3] Estonia, in Estonian.

[4] [Have] Courage!

[5] Darling

[6] Brazilian strategy game.

[7] Blood

[8] Pray to God for me. I'm getting insane.

[9] I'm so sorry, I wasn't able to keep Portugal's accent in the translation; in the original it was quite fine.

[10] Please. "Petites femmes" é "little women".


	14. Den' Pobedy II: The Return

– It's the third time – Russia repeated, panting – and I won't let you live for a fourth. Tie him up.

Ukraine, laughing, pushed Doitsu to the mast where the German flag was waving, and tied him there.

– A bullet – Russia growled, with a sinister grin – it's too good for you. I'll cut you to pieces – he announced then, calmly, attaching a knife in the tip of his rifle. Following, he pierced Doitsu in the shoulder with it, slowly. The German man grit his teeth, stopping himself from crying. He trembled and panted. When Russia pulled out the knife, however, he sneered, cold:

– I do not fear you, Genghis Khan.

– So what – Russia smiled, walking towards Germany and approaching his face. – I want to cause you pain, not fear. And this – he stuck his makeshift bayonet in the foot of Doitsu, which, blindsided, was unable to hold back a scream – I know is working.

Russia retreated.

– But, in fact, the fun is worn off. I'll make a sieve out of you and it's done – he said, targeting right between Germany's eyes and cocking the gun.

Scared, yet proud to the end, Germany shouted:

– _Deutschland über Alles! _– but his scream was muffled by another, and rather this stopped Russia from pulling the trigger.

– Post! Post from home! – announced a messenger, that came running from the rear of the Russian lines. There was a moment of tension, Russian still with the insane glare and smile resting upon the enemy. But something had been triggered inside him. Still alert, he shouted:~

– Any letters for me?

– Surely, sir. There must be for everybody, the way his backpack is heavy. If it wasn't for that and I would have gotten here earlier.

A thick silence fell upon the countries, with the noise of the soldiers taking their letters as a background. Russia was breathing heavily. Suddenly, he let down the gun.

– I won't disgrace my sould eliminating a nation without permission. I have a life beyond this field. You're not worthy that much. Bring the papers for unconditional capitulation.

Estonia came stumbling forwards, and opened a case. He had just taken a large bundle of papers, a huge and detailed treaty about how would be the configuration of Europe now that Russia won the war, already signed by France and the others, and Germany was saying that he would not sign anything but rather die, when Russia changed his mind once again, picked up the tome and tore it like a single sheet of paper.

– You know what? – he said. – I don't even want this mess of your lands. I have people who likes me, something that silly xenophobes like you don't know how to deal with – he mocked, blowing the little pieces of the torn treatise in the face of his enemies. Russia's allies didn't seem sure that rip the treatise had been the right action, but none of them felt like discussing with him precisely now. – Reach another paper and a pen for me, Estonia – Russia asked.

Handing him an empty bag of bread (the only other paper he owned at the moment) and a pen, Estonia bent so that Russia could use his back as a table to write a new treaty of unconditional surrender.

– We, Germany, France, Italy, etc, solemnly swear that nevermore we will invade mother Russia, under penalty of having our mangy heads separated from our necks – Russia grumbled, while he wrote. – Sign it – he snarled, handing the paper and the pen to Veneziano, who was nearer and had the hands free.

– Rus, and us? – asked Ukraine, widening her eyes. Russia took the paper back.

"P.S.", he added, "the same is worthy for whoever tries to invade Ukraine, Belarus, Lithuania, Latvia, Estonia, Finland, and any other European country whose border reaches Russia." He thought a little longer. "Including Poland because only I can invade Poland", he added.

– Hey! This is, totally, nonsense! – Poland protested, but wasn't heard. Everybody was signing, even Germany. After all, a nation always have a part that wants to survive.

At the same time when the last enemy signed the capitulation, the postman finally reached Russia, and delivered him a creasy envelope.

– Sorry for the delay, sir; there was really _many_ letters.

– _Net problem, drug_[1]. I'll ask you one more favor; run and go tell our people about the victory.

– Oh, sir, but I'm so tired! – the man protested. In fact, his appearance was terrible; the boots barely had sole. – I just arrived.

– Go – Russia ordered. And the man started to walk, muttering. – Hey! – Russia called. – It's not much, but it'll help you to go faster – he said, throwing to the man his pocket flask. The messenger beamed from ear to ear and, after drinking from the flask, he went away jigging. Russia turned to the others, smiley. Walking towards France, who started to tremble, Russia plucked a feather from his cap. Taking the treatise with Estonia, who had already received it, he kissed the bag of bread and then the letter he was holding in the other hand.

– Gentlemen, a triumph party awaits for me! – he exclaimed, bowing in a jesting reverence. – – _Do svidanyia!__**[2]**_ And let it not be in the battlefield, for your sake.

Russia turned away from them and began marching unconcernedly home, and was soon followed by his allies. Unarmed although free, the enemies did not dare to stop them.

Russia was _almost_ right about the party. It wasn't ready yet when he arrived, so that it could be considered a triumph, but it wasn't for lack of effort.

For a long time I had no news from the battlefield. The last one was that terrible note written in blood. So, the grief didn't consume me completely only because, thanks to the bombings, I had a lot to do. During this period, I learned to work harder than many males. I repaired on my own several parts of Russia's house that had been put down, cutting wood in a forest nearby, flattening the boards, nailing, producing the ink, painting… Naturally the work went on quite slowly, especially because I had to make it alone, and I would never be able to fix it all. But it was better, because then I kept myself busy all the time, and I hadn't time to think about the _front_ , not even at night, when I would capsize in my bed, so tired I was.

There were moments, however, with no work to do. And I would stay there, in that immense dark house (because of the _blackout _), sometimes hungry, for I had already consumed my daily ration.

In these times, I would think of many things, but mainly on two. I would think about how it was good that I was born in Brazil, where there are no wars. And I got despaired, trying to find a way to help Russia to get out of this. Until that these two ideas overlap, and another was born: I will write to Brazil, ask him to join this war to help Russia.

Many things me held me from doing it, however. Besides the relative lack of time, postmen and paper, so to say. Was it fair to involve my country, almost a virgin in what concerned to wars, in such a cruel mess like that, possibly killing many of my compatriots to save a country who had few or nothing to do with them? How to write to Brazil – in this world, I didn't knew it! Who I should address the letter to? And else: would he listen to me?

In the end, many things passed until I finally gathered courage. Then, I wrote the letter in appealing terms, sealed it and waited for the next time when someone appeared, whom I could ask to take the epistle. I wouldn't go myself – I had to wait for Russia.

Except that in the next time someone didn't appear – a crowd appeared.

A true horde of women approached the house in that morning, making such a noise that I thought it was another bombing, or even artillery attack. They were singing, maybe a different song each, that's the reason of the confusion. And some were dancing too, or crying, or laughing! I grabbed a rifle and ran to the door, I didn't even know how to handle that, but I won't sell my skin cheap.

– _Pobeda!_ – they were shouting. – _Pobeda, g-ja. Érika, pobeda!__**[3]**_

It took me a moment to translate the word, but as soon as I understood, I dropped the gun and run to the middle of them, shouting and jumping like a freak, soiling myself and the others with splashes of melted snow.

They told me that, moments before the dawn of the previous day, a messenger had arrived in a distant village; the poor man was totally out of breath from the race, but announced "We won!" before fainting. The dwellers of the village hardly believed it, until they heard, at the distance, the voices of the army coming near. Then they had ran with the news, from village to village, from city to city, and the result was this bowling of women that I was seeing, ready to prepare a feast to receive their men. Yes, now that I looked carefully, most of them had brought something to eat, or a bottle of vodka, or a garnish to the house.

And we put our hands to work.

_"Victory Day, it's been so far away,_

_Like an ember dwindling in the fading fire._

_There were miles, burnt and covered in dust, —_

_This day, we hastened it the best we could. (...)"_

This old song about the end of the WWII[4] came earlier than the expected, sang by portentous voices, and caught us still preparing the house to welcome them. Without hesitation, however, we leaved the pans, casseroles and ribbons aside and ran, piling up in front of the door. I'm generally polite, but in that day I jostled everybody to stay right in the front row.

_Hello, Mother, not all of us came back..._

_How I wish to run about barefoot in dew!_

_Half of Europe, we have stridden half the Earth,_

_This day, we hastened it the best we could._

To tell the truth, their appearance shocked us. Some came resting upon sticks, makeshift crutches because they had lost a leg; some were carried by two colleagues, because they had no more legs; some were armless; with eye patches; and to the ones that nothing was missing, also bruised and bloody wounds were left. Russia was limping slightly and covered in blood, part of it, from his enemies.

When they reached a fair distance, I rushed with the others – because if I tried to stand, I would have been trampled to death – and I was preparing to jump two meters and throw me to the neck of Ivan, as the wives, daughters and sisters of the soldiers around me did, but he stretched forth his hands to stop me.

– No! – he exclaimed. Then smiled. – You're so cute in this national costume[5], you're going to get dirty! – he said, looking at me tenderly. I forgot to mention that many of my fellows had decided to dress traditional costumes to pay tribute to the nation, and they found one to me too. But I probably made a face of disappointment in the style of Shrek's Puss in Boots, because Russia grimaced humorously, undressed the dolman and cleaned his hands and face with it, dropping it in the ground and opening his arms for me to cast myself on them, what I pleasantly did. He laughed.

– Right, right, you're going to have more of me later – he said, putting me on the ground. – Are you fine? – he asked, lightly anxious.

– Yes, what about you?

– I will be better after a bath and a bit of vodka – he confessed, with a feeble smile. – But it was already a great help seeing that you are entire. _And_ they. It fits you, indeed, this costume – he commented, staring at me with the head tilted – just… – after rummaging in his pockets, he pulled from one of them a blue feather stuck in a clip twisted in the form of a hook. He leaned and attached that tiny hook in my ear, moment when I finally figured out that it was an earring. – Now it's fine! Hehe, a Brazilian Russian girl. I made it to you on the way – he explained, blushing slightly. Then mocked: – I want to see you dancing samba in the feast over these heelpieces. Yes, I noticed you're wearing high heels, you're a little less undersized – he smiled.

– Go take a shower, Russia! – I exclaimed this quite Brazilian version of "Go fly a kite!", glad, crossing my arms and narrowing my eyes towards him.

– I will, indeed, I cannot stand longer the sight of blood – he agreed, walking lively inward the house. He even gave me a smirk over his shoulder.

We were in one of the widest halls of Russia's house, and it was amazing the amount of people that was there. Also the amount of food, considering that we had just came out of a war. They were all humans like me: soldiers, women, _babuchki _and _deduchki_, and even children. At first the absence of other nations puzzled me, especially the Baltics, but then it occurred to me that they should be celebrating with their own people. The band was ready, with the harmonicas in position, but we kept silence. We were all waiting for Russia, the star of the party.

All of a sudden, the wide door opened violently. Russia stood on the threshold, arms raised and a glorious expression, wearing a gorgeous military gala uniform[6]. The band started to play the Korobushka[7] – aka Tetris Song – and Russia came dancing, with wide and elegant – though comic for a western – pace. The people around started clapping and shouting "Hey!" in the right moments of the music, some daring a little more and stomping too, or rocking.

Arriving in the middle of the room, Russia stopped the music with a wave of his hand. Silence.

– Well, what are you waiting for? Attack! – he exclaimed, indicating the food. Someone were already starting to obey the command when he shouted – Wait! – and walked to the nearest table, catching a cup and filling it. – First, a toast to Mother Russia!

The idea was enthusiastically welcomed. Everybody picked up drinks too; there was even juice for the children, which I used for the toast.

– May the health, love and food never miss in old Russia, nor men to pull the sword! – Ivan said the salute. Everybody exclaimed words in concordance and turned their glasses.

Then there was a feast; so busy with the preparative, I hadn't even noticed how hungry I was. But too much was said about food in this story, so let's press a _fast forward _and skip this part.

When the children were heavy, and therefore they were taken by their mothers to sleep, the old people nodded off in the corners in spite of the old loud music, and the man were starting to get drunk, then the party really livened up. The musicians played brightly some Russian and Ukrainian folk songs, and everyone was dancing haphazardly and cheerfully. Even I dared some moves, as no one would notice me in the middle of the mess. I danced with myself, with other girls, with an old lady, and with some handsome guys. Luckily Russia was not paying attention.

Shortly thereafter, I heard a hubbub surrounding Ivan. I didn't understand what they were talking, but he was laughing. After a while, he waved in agreement and made his way to the musicians, asking one of them to lend him the balalaika[8]. The guy delivered the instrument, with all due respect, and Russia asked, with a grimace:

– What do you want me to play?

– Anything! – someone shouted. He shrugged, laughing, and started to vibrate the strings of the instrument.

He closed his eyes and I saw that he got lost in the song. Geez, there are few things like a well-played song, and he definitely knew how to play. I had already gotten what was the deal with Ivan, and the other nations too: they were skillful in many things, because in his countries (that is, in themselves) there were always some people who had talent to whatsoever. The more talented people there were, the better the country would perform any task; hardly something would emerge to which they were not able, even though each country would stand out in different ways, such as Japan in making tiny objects and artificial intelligence.

Russia played some joyful songs, then sad ones, and as if his soul was connected to the music, he became visibly sad, as well as all the Russians around. Then, perceiving that this was definitely not the spirit of the party, he gave the balalaika back to its owner, asking him to come back to the tripping songs, and went to drown out the bad memories that had assaulted him. Within two minutes, he was fine again, standing in front of a sofa, and telling a group that had gathered around him about his own bravery in the battle. I approached to listen too, and took a seat in the couch.

–...and then France came crawling by the middle of the swamp. It was the only way left to me, and I would never wonder that they were covering it too, if the guy hadn't started to complain that the mud would be bad for his hair. I thought "I could catch him as a hostage", but then it occurred me that probably no one would care for it.

– Ai! – a girl exclaimed, nervous, covering her mouth with her hand. – And then?

– Then I digged. I burried myself and kept silence, waiting. They camped almost above me, so I could hear their plans for the next day. At the same time, I went on rending the soil with my nails, digging a tunnel out of there. It was how I got away, but I ended up quite hurt – Russia said, observing the wounds around his nails. – Yeah, enjoy your Vasya, for it was close for him this time – he added to the girl, who went running to search her boyfriend. Russia drank another swig from the bottle in his hand. Then he spotted me.

– Uou, look who's here! – he exclaimed, in a tone of pleasant surprise. – I spent hours looking for you so we could share a cup – verifying the impossibility of sitting beside me on the packed couch, he knelt in front of me. – Vodka? – he offered, raising the bottle.

I shook my head.

– Ah, stop! – Ivan frowned. – You drank wine with Veneziano for nothing, and now you refuse to drink a little bit of vodka to celebrate my victory? – he exclaimed, disgusted.

Damn, what a tight spot!

– Oh, Vanya, it's my stomach, it... Alright. But just a _tiny little bit_ .

– Yay! – he commemorated, making the people who were around laugh. – Bring a glass.

Receiving the glass, he poured two fingers of that transparent liquid and handed me the vessel, asking sarcastically:

– Like this, young lady?

Without answering, I took the cup and drank it all in one gulp. I have to lose this habit.

A fact about genuine Russian vodka: it has on average an alcohol content of 50%, which means that it is quite close to be above the limit allowed in Brazil. Some brands, in fact, _are_ prohibited in my country. And else: there in Russia they drink it pure. What means I almost had a heart attack. After this, naturally, my capacity of perception was a bit damaged, so that whatever I narrate hereafter, I cannot ensure that it happened that way.

Vanya laughed.

– See? You're alive.

– I'm not that sure – I replied, leaning on his shoulders, as I felt the bottom of my guts sink. I could almost hear the "Fssssss…". He laughed again, feeling a mug for himself and drinking it. It wasn't the first; at this point he was even a little cross-eyed.

Russia decided to dance a little more. As I did not vomit, the alcohol began to arrive in my blood, and then I ran and asked Russia to teach me to dance with him. The true is that we had a lot of fun. The jumps he executed, slapping his foot and then dancing crouched, seemed easy to my drunken mind, and I completely dismantled myself trying to imitate. After, in part for pity of me, in part because I he wanted to take a breath, he carried me in his back to a less crowded corner where he started again to describe his exploits of war to the bystanders.

– ...and I had pointed my gun to the ugly face of Germany's and I was going to blow his brains out – Russia spoke, simulating his own posture with the arms – but then the postman came… with your letter – he told me, caressing my face with a finger – and I thought to myself "Damn this badly loved git, I have better things to do". And I came.

Ivan was silent for a moment, thoughtful, with the elbow resting on the arm of the couch. I was on his lap, smiling idiotically and swinging my feet, happy.

– In fact, I would like to be friends with them – he commented, shrugging. – But what could I do if they don't want. They challenged me. "Who to Russia with the sword come, by the sword will die!" – he quote an old of motto of his country; his motto.

– …will die – I echoed, like someone who says something very profound.

- And I beat everyone! – Russia roared, lifting and emptying his mug again. – I am a hero! Isn't that true, Erikushka?

– Daaa... – I said, and burst in laughter, my fingers climbing up and down on his long nose.

– Then say it, Erikushka, say it in my language! – he whispered in my ear, hugging me so hard it almost made my eyes pop.

– _Ty geroi, Vanek-Rossyia!__**[9]**_ – I shouted, casting my arms in the air and laughing more. He laughed too and kissed my cheeks several times.

– And you're going to stay here with me forever, aren't you, Erikitka? – he said, in an elated voice, tickling me. – And I will protect you.

– _Da, konechno__**[10]**_ – I answered, quietly, hugging him as if he was a _mishka_, a teddy bear.

– So let's dance! – he stood up abruptly, forgetting that I was on his knees, and I fell on the floor. He lifted me up, fast, apologizing with a slurred voice, and we began to spin and jump around the room, along with others, laughing and banging on things, singing...[11]

The dance was really fun, I fumbled a bit, but the hardest part was the man's part, I pretty much just had to step and spin. And Ivan danced very well, it was a pleasure to watch. Amazing how he still had energy, not only because the party had already lasted some hours and he had danced since the beginning, but mainly because he was doing it after a day of forced march, coming back from a battle. I – dizzy from turning around the room and because of the vodka – could not stand as much as he; I sat in the corner of a couch and watched, joining the choirs singing, when I knew the words. After a while, he threw himself next to me with a sigh, flushed and happy.

– Hey, Érika – he whispered, leaning his head on my shoulder – If I were fully human and not a country, I would like to turn that braid of yours into two – it took me long to understand the gallantry[12]; my brain was slow, and it beclouded even more when he pressed his hot lips against my nape. A shiver went through me from the root of the hair to the pinky toes. – You cause me strange sensations – Ivan said, translating perfectly what I was feeling in the moment.

– _This _is what causes you strange sensations – I said, read as my dress, picking up a bottle of vodka that was half empty in the small table beside us. I drank a sip and gave the rest to Ivan, who laughed and dried it out, breaking the bottle right after.

_– _Both of you, right? – he blinked at me and, with renewed energy and a shout of – Hey! – he jumped to his feet and began to dance with some soldiers again.

As for me, that additional bit of alcohol was fatal to knock me down once for all; I leaned on the divan's arm, falling asleep gradually, as the room turned into a blur before my eyes. After that, I have only a vague recollection of strong arms lifting me in the air, and the voice of Russia humming "_Otchi tchyornye__**[13]**__"_ quietly while the rest of the room's noise was left behind...

* * *

Remove the * from the links under so you can see it.

[1] No problem, friend.

[2] So long.

[3] Victory! Victory, Miss Érika, victory!

[4] It's named "Den' Pobedy" (Victory Day), what explains the title of the chapter. Here you have the full song with translation: http:* wiki/*Den_Pobedy

[5] Like this: http*:/* art/*The-Brazilian-Russian-Girl-360469531. No mesmo parágrafo, dólmã é o casaco militar que o Rússia usa. E quanto ao gatinho do Shrek, pra quem não conhece: http:* . /*_8sgItSy2yPg/S9jqU8GBqHI/AAAAAAAAAa4/EcqVgI50EZU /s1600/*

[6] Something like that http:* 7268/7606561602_8272a42f29*.*jpg, mas com o casaco branco, que combina mais com o Ivan.

[7] This: http:* *watch?v=Lg0N3xhOzc8

[8] This instrument: http:* *watch?v=wWvMuZLQZN0

[9] "You're a hero, Ivan-Russia!". Pronnounciation: Ti guerói, VAnek-RassYia!

[10] Yes, sure

[11] Imagine a dance so-so like this: ht*tp:/www.*youtube.*com/*watch?feature=endscreen&v=OANzLIuxhNo&NR=1

[12] In the ancient Russian tradition, only single women could tie their hair in a single braid, as the married women had to 'wear' two braids. "The girls undid the future bride's single braid, singing in place of the bride as they parted her hair into two braids and adorned and dressed her (Alexander 63–65). A married woman's two braids symbolized the home of her father and the home of her husband" (http*:/* .edu/perspectives/2001/4-Laments*.pdf). I don't believe this habit remains today, except, maybe, in a forgotten-by-the-world rural corner, but I thought it would be interesting for him to say (especially considering that Ivan is about 1200 years old…) O.o

[13] The name of the music is "Dark Eyes": http*:/*/lyricstranslate*.*com/en/ochi-chornyye-oc hi-chernye-dark-eyes*.*html

** The motto that Russia says in the chapter _is not_ the motto of Russia nowadays. I don't know when it were, maybe in very old times.


	15. Czarina

I didn't open my eyes immediately, although I felt the sun hitting them, as if I had _ocelli [1]_ instead of eyes. First, I stretched carefully my arms, fumbling the bed to verify if there wasn't any strange body there. As drunken people don't own some parts of themselves, I was a bit apprehensive about whether I had done something that I would regret.

But apparently everything was fine. In fact, opening my eyes I discovered I was in my bedroom, still wearing the party's dress, as neat as it could be after a night of sleep. Just the shoes had been taken from my feet and put beside the bed. I sat, and a terrible pressure in the head almost pulled me down again. Argh, how do the partygoers bear it! I pressed my forehead with the hand and, when I succeeded to open my eyes, I noticed a note in the bed table, leaning against a glass of water: "You will need that." I picked the paper, trying to understand it – my brain was not in the normal rhythm – and I saw that, glued on the back with tape, there was medicine for headache! I smiled.

I was taking the pill when someone knocked on the door and, after my answer, Russia came into the bedroom, with a wide smile, looking quite peart.

– I thought you would be down with the hangover – I said, somehow surprised. This was not the best welcome I have ever given, but come on. He laughed.

– Do you really think that after all this time I would not have gotten used? – approaching, Ivan sat on the border of the bed. – And how are you?

– Dizzy – I mumbled.

– Well, you can't commemorate a victory with tea – he replied, mocking.

– Yeah, I had a good reason – I admitted. – You're alive, after all.

– Because you waited for me – he retorted, in an affectionate voice.

– That was just a poem, Ivan – I replied, in the same tone that a mother would speak to her child. – You came back because you men fought bravely.

– You and their Tatianas were the reason why we wanted to come back – he shrugged. - Otherwise, whatever to die in battle or not. It was even a glorious option.

I went red. As I didn't know how to answer to that, we kept silence for a while, until he spoke again.

– You took good care of my house while I was away. Everything is entire, except what was bombed or burned. You couldn't avoid this.

– Well, it was the least I could do, right? You've hosted me for so long. I even feel like this is my home too, would not want to see it destroyed.

– That's why I want you to be my czarina – he said suddenly, in a deep voice. I drowned with the shock. In the hallway, there was a little muffled noise, as if something had fallen on the carpet.

– B-but... I... – I stuttered.

– Of course! You know many things about my people, my uses, and you truly care about us. I wouldn't mind obeying _your _orders. Haven't you said that you want to help me to change? I think that we could do much together.

I sat there, staring at him and not knowing what to answer, blinking the eyes, goggling like a fish out of water, wondering if everything would not be a delusion, leftover effects of yesterday's vodka. At last, I replied:

– Well, Ivan... do you give me a time to think about that? – a bell rang in the hall.

– Yes. You answer me tonight. While you think, I will organize the coronation. I have to make it somehow clandest… – Russia was unable to finish the thought, because the door opened and Lithuania stuck his head inside, announcing:

– Miss Ukraine in the telephone, Mr. Russia.

Ivan stood up and went promptly to answer the phone, joyful. He forgot the door open, so I heard all the conversation, although I was paying only half attention, because I still was stunned by the bizarre proposal of Russia

– _Spasibo! _Congratulations to _us_, isn't that? – Russia exclaimed, probably thanking to a compliment about the victory. – I wouldn't have done it without you all fighting by my side – pause. – Come here? Of course you can! But what this miracle is due to?... Ok, then – another pause. – Argh, not she! Why? So what that she's my sister, Katia, you know how unease she lets me. _Da. Da, da._ _Horosho _[2]. I wait you for the lunch, then. After? _Da._ For you too.

He rang off, but didn't come to talk with me. He went away humming an old song, and by the direction of the sound he must have come down the stairs. Maybe he was going to continue the preparations to the so-said coronation. Lithuania had also vanished, so I sat there alone with my thoughts.

The idea scared me a bit, but I couldn't say it wasn't exciting. Czarina of Russia! The amount of power that this would give me… My eyes grew. I don't doubt that a small purple cloud arouse around me too. In addition, there was the pomp! Another girl would prefer to be the little princess trapped in a tower, which one day should be saved by a prince with the same L'Oreal hair as France, or (the recent fashion) a 'normal' teenager, ready to be devoured by a 'vegetarian' vampire [3]. I thought a bit differently. "Queen" fits me well, as giving orders is my deal! And another thing I always wanted was to change the world, whether when I imagined myself as as a Viking princess, crazy-herald-peasant or amazon. Change Russia was the same as to change one quarter of the world. I was quite inclined to accept the proposal. At this time Latvia entered the room.

– Good morning, Miss Erika – he greeted, seeming happy; probably because of the victory. – Mr. Russia told me to open a room for you. Can you follow me?

Scattering abruptly my daydream, in which I waved elegantly my hand in the best style Queen of England (when young), I got up and followed Latvia through corridors and stairs. He stopped in front of a tall white door, with golden knob and collets, and delivered me a key.

I opened the door and entered. I noticed that I had left Latvia behind, and slipped back half my body through the opening.

– You're not coming? – I asked, surprised.

– I'm not allowed to enter there, miss. No one is, since the defeat of the White Army in 1921. We'll have lunch in half an hour. Do you need help to find the way for the dinner room? – he questioned, preparing to stay waiting for me outside the room.

– Hm… No, I think that at this extent I can reach the dinner room alone. Thank you, Raivis – I grinned.

He left, and I closed the door, finally turning to watch the room. Wow! Everything that had ever been sumptuous in Russia seemed to be accumulated in that room. There were crowns of many dynasties, as well as scepters, mantles, skins, _kokoshniki _[4] and weapons of many ages; there were flags with royal coats of arms, gold plated icons, and even some funeral urns. There were dressed that could have belonged to Olga, and others, to the last Russian czarevna[5], Anastasia Romanova [6]. Of course, everything smelling mildew and camphor balls. In a corner, there was a large Soviet flag thrown aside, with tattered edges. Associating it with the red threads in the spikes nailed in the corners of the door, I comprehended that the banner had been there, sealing the room. In the ground I found a trail of large footprints in the recent dust, which followed towards a small table, on whose side was a full length mirror that seemed to have been hastily cleaned. As I approached the table, I detected a note with the same handwriting from the note that contained the aspirin. Just one word – "Choose".

I smiled to myself, thinking about the reaction of some friends of mine if they come to know that I was almost becoming a monarchist, almost restoring in Russia what the scarlet blood of the red army had shed to defeat. But in that moment, in my delirium of greatness, I didn't care for them. I paraded around with the dresses, one after another, opting for a less bouffant model, of medieval aspect. Then I moved to choose the crown and other royal accessories. I kept distance from everything that had belonged to Ivan Groznyi [7], deciding to pick the royal insignia used by the tsar that had been more benign to Russia. It wasn't an easy task. Finally, I decided to leave it for later, and opened a window, sitting on the parapet to meditate on the name that I would elect when I become czarina. For surely I would have to naturalize – I just hope he'll let me keep a double nationality, I like to be Brazilian, after all – and choose a national name. Ekaterina seemed good to me, but there had been too many. And else, Ekaterina Braginskaia is Ukraine's name, I don't want to steal it, considering that I had already decided to adopt Russia's family name, which is easier than to create one. Nadejda means hope; it's a good allegory, but the name is ugly. Ah, Vera – "vera" means faith in his language, and truth in mine. Czarina Vera Braginskaia, I liked.

"Hum! Mess, the lunch!", I recalled, then, dressing again my dress of yesterday, which I had thrown aside (and thus it was a bit dusty now), and running to the dinner room. I got there quickly, but they were already finishing. And Russia was pressing Latvia's head down, almost burying his chin on the table, because he had not waited for me. I looked at Ivan reproachfully and he let the little guy go, saying:

– I'm sorry, it's the habit. I'm sorry, Latvia.

Obviously the boy wasn't waiting for that, and his chin as well as the other Baltics' chins fell. Russia didn't give them time to ask any kind of explanation; he picked one of the plates that were in the table, with fruits that remained from the party the day before, and asked me to accompany him to a nearby room.

Ivan closed the door with a cautious look and sat in the sofa by my side. As I ate the fruit, he was talking excitedly:

– I have to arrange everything alone, but I think it's getting cool. I thought better not to tell them what I intended to do; they might disagree; after all it's not very usual in modern times. And I don't want to have to punch them. I'm preparing everything in one of the basements, when the time is come I'll take you there. I've even got a pope [8] to the coronation ... or do you prefer a Napoleon style, you crown yourself?

I grumbled anything, chewing the fruits. Not even I know what it was, and Russia also didn't care, he continued telling his plans in quiet voice.

– The biggest problem that shows up is you being a foreigner. I already had foreign czarinas, but that's because they came from royal lineage, and they married a czar. I don't have a czar to marry you anymore; you don't want Putin [9], do you? – he joked. – After all, that's not bad, I think I would be jealous. We'll find another way – he murmured, thoughtful. – Maybe if we… – he was speaking, after a moment, raising a finger to follow the thought, but saw something by the window behind me and stopped. – We solve it later, I have to receive my sisters.

And he went out. Swallowing the last raspberries and cleaning my mouth with the sleeve, I ran to the door of the room, and peeked through a gap. I was curious to acknowledge Russia's sisters, but I was also a bit afraid. Honestly, no one in that family is easy.

Russia opened the door. I didn't see how it happened, but in the same second, not in the next, a blond girl had clung to his neck.

– Rus! – she squealed, in a sort of bizarre ninja yell, and hooked her arms around his neck as if they were steel. I felt a bit jealous, even knowing that she – Belarus – is worse than bipolar, she only has one pole, the crazy.

– Hi to you too, Natasha – said Russia, politely. His calm expression didn't change a bit, neither the voice, but surely there was despair in the words he addressed to the other sister. – Ukraine… help.

The other blond girl caught tightly in the arms of Belarus and had tremendous difficulty in pulling her back. This girl had a nice appearance, and considerable breasts, which surely would leave Pamela Anderson [10] jealous.

– Bel... Bel, release him – she askes gently to her sister. – After you tell him to marry you. Let him breathe.

Finally, they managed to pull Belarus away from her brother's neck, without taking his head together. Ukraine then stepped forward and kissed Ivan's face.

– Looks like the party was good yesterday, you still breath vodka – she said with a smile between disapproving and benevolent. Russia blushed.

– Well, it was a great party indeed, but this is from the lunch. And you, how are you? – "Marry me? Marry me? Marry me?" as soundtrack. – Ah, but my hospitality, come in, come – they went into the hall. Russia looked around and saw me. – You still don't know Erika, is not it? – before I could hide, he pulled me and introduced me to them.

– Just her fame; you talked about her some times in the front – said Ukraine. Belarus apparently linked the name to the person, and in that moment I wished I had asked Russia to teach me how to eat deadly glares.

– She came from Brazil to visit me. It's been two years since then, and she hasn't felt like going away still – he added, laughing, visibly proud. I smiled half-heartedly with my mouth covered in raspberry "lipstick". Ukraine greeted me with a kiss on the cheek to, and stopped Belarus from coming near me.

– Good – Ukraine said, blankly, while the other girl cursed indistinctly, in quiet voice. – We need to talk about a serious matter Ivan. Could she wait a bit here in this room, as we talk in another?

Ivan looked at me quietly.

– No – he said, locking my wrist and preventing my retreat. He didn't add a single word, but his voice was steady enough for the three of us to know that it was not for discussion. Naturally, I just didn't lose my life right there because Ukraine had also locked Belarus' wrist with strength of iron. – This way – Russia led us to another room ahead, not the one in which we had been before they came.

This room was more feminine, all sofas and armchairs more beady, lined with white (Russian) crochet. Maybe he thought it would relieve the tension in the air, which was almost as heavy as having Russia sat on your knees. In fact, despite the apparent calm, the hand with which he pulled me was trembling ever so slightly, and I realized that he was more upset than in that the day when he had gone to war. We sat down and a nasty silence lingered. Half-silence, right – I'm not including Belarus.

– Well... – Russia said. Ukraine echoed him. New silence; Russia couldn't bear the pressure anymore. – You said you had an urgent matter to deal with me, what was it? – he asked straightforward.

– Well... – Ukraine started. – I didn't want to, but... well, we heard some rumours… that you're planning to restore the Empire.

Russia locked his facial expression, when he heard it. Unreadable again.

– And I bet it has to do with this pretentious chit! – Belarus exclaimed, pointing at me. – See, Katyusha, he even gave her a national costume, while I wear this old rag! [11] – she complained to Ukraine.

– Don't say rubbish – he answered simply.

– Oh, please, Rus! Don't lie to us! – Ukraine exclaimed, then. – I've known you for a long time, I know when you're planning something.

– Well, what if I am? – he shrugged. I pulled my hand softly, trying to retreat. I could see sparks coming out of this clash, and I was not match for those too. But Russia didn't let go.

– How so, what if you are? You are, are not you? Vanya, this is crazy!

– You're both jealous because I'm a more powerful country. Maybe you are afraid, too – he murmured, then. – But don't worry, I will not annex you this time. My future czarina doesn't like incursions – he said fondly, with a meek smile to me. I suppose I should have encouraged him, but I wasn't able to smile back.

– So what is it for?! – shouted Belarus, breaking free from Ukraine's grisp and jumping towards us. She knelt before Russia and grabbed his ankles. – Oh, Big Bro, I want you to annex me, please, please, I want to become one with mother Russia! Vanya, Vanyushka, drop this idea and marry me, da? – she begged, with frantic eyes.

– Net! [12] – he answered, troubled, unshoeing the boots and shaking Belarus away from them. Then, he held her by her shoulders and sat her in the armchair beside. – If that's what you wanted to say me, we better change the subject. How are your crops of wheat?

– My crops don't matter now, Rus, listen to me. This is a mistake, you must have drunk too much. Go refresh your head and soon you will perceive how ridiculous your idea is. A czarina, and a foreign one, moreover! – and to me: - No offense, honey, but it is one thing to live with my brother, and another is to want to rule him.

– Let her out of this! – Russia shouted, jumping to his feet, and I had never seen him so angry.

– How should I let her out if you put her in?! – exclaimed Ukraine.

– She's the cause of the entire problem; we just have to rub her out and he will come back to his brains – Belarus said, pulling a knife she had in the belt. Russia held her arm.

– Don't. You. Dare – he said, trembling, and Belarus dropped the hand. Not that she was afraid of him, she was rather afraid that she could lose the little affection her brother had for her. – Wait me in the adjoining room, Erika. I soon finish it here.

I ran. But they were talking quite loud, so I could hear everything from the so-said adjoining room.

– And you two, I don't want to hear a word about it.

– Ivan, please, be reasonable. A foreigner!

– Ekaterina Vtoraya Velikaya [13] was Prussian, and she was one of the best rulers I ever had.

– That big b***h! Thankfully she became worm food. Marry me!

– It's diferente! In that time you had czars, it was normal. Things have changed. You have a president, what do you intend to do with him?

– Depose.

– Rus, I love you! Let me live here!

– This is coup d'etat, Russia. Do you know the confusion that it may cause?

– It's the will of the nation to have a czarina. Go back to the glorious times of old Russia. I know it, I am the nation and that's what I want.

– She's an human, what do you see of good on her? Marry me!...

– You know it's not quite like that. You know. There are parts in you that don't want it. You can feel it. You're feeling it right now.

– They will learn to want it – and his voice was dreading. – By hook or by force.

– Marry m…

– ENOUGH! Please, I ask you both to go away. And if you come bother me about this again, I'll have to close my borders for you – he said, kindly yet firm. He seemed more controlled now.

– Alright. But if a civil war come, you know in which side we will be – Ukraine alerted. She sighed. – Please understand, we make it for the good of you. We love y…

– Go away.

There was silence for a long time, then. I just heard the door once, I reckon Russia stayed in the room. Probably thinking about what they had said. I also was. I hadn't found out yet the hard part of the thing. Earlier it crossed my mind that some countries would oppose my reign, but I dismissed the concern with the words "Russia shall defeat him easily." Hadn't I seen, right yesterday, Russia coming from a war, maimed, wounded and limping? Victorious, yes, but at what cost!? And so now I wanted to throw you in another war, perhaps together with a coup d'etat, a civil war? As I had understood from Ukraine's words, he would have to defeat himself to concretize our plans of monarchy; I imagined this horrible show, and my stomach revolved. Especially considering what I knew about the civil wars that had already taken place in Russia. I couldn't let it happen because of my (or his) vagaries of magnitude. I'd hate to see him get hurt.

In this moment, Russia came in. He had calmed down, though not entirely. He went immediately to me.

– It's everything alright now. If I discover who told it to Ukraine, I... – he sighed, and stuffed his hands in the pockets. – So, did you pick any clothe in that room this morning? You'll have to give me to wash it myself; I won't ask Lithuania because I don't want more trouble. If you didn't like any, we also can…

– Russia, I won't be your czarina – I cut, gathering courage. I believed that the sooner I said it the better. It was as if he hadn't heard me.

– As for the crown, we won't be able to make one hastily, then you…

– I won't need a crown, because I won't reign over you – I said, cutting him again. I probably wanted to die. He looked at me kindly.

– You don't have to be afraid because of Belarus. I wouldn't let her attack you.

– That's not the reason, I simply don't want. This morning you said you would give me until the night to think if I would accept your proposal. Well, I do not accept.

– It was a pro forma question – he said, starting to get irritated. – In reality, I had already decided, didn't you perceive? You will be czarina because I want it.

– Force me – I crossed my arms. He stared at me for a while. I swear he was thinking on a way to do it. Only, in this case, violence would not help.

– I offer you the honor of being czarina of Russia, and you refuse? – he hissed dangerously, at last.

– I refuse – and I kept steady. I wouldn't retreat after struggling so much. – I refuse, I don't want to see you get hurt.

– Kolkolkol! Ukraine! – he growled angrily. – Don't you listen to that fool, she knows nothing. I will be alright.

– No, you won't, Russia – I said, in a meek voice. – You won't.

He stared at me again, hardly believing. He snorted like a bull, and I really got scared. After exclaiming "Argh!", he threw himself on the couch beside me, hiding his face in his hands. Uncovering his face after a moment, he looked at me angrily.

– _Ya nenaviju tebya!_ [14] – he shouted at me, then.

I restrained myself not to cry. What else could I do?

The silence was very sad. Russia had put his hands on his face again, and was swinging. Evidently he was struggling a lot to put himself under control. He did it, at last. Leaning on the sofa, he said, tired:

– Right. After all, you don't need to be czarina to help me grow. I can simply follow your advices. Many times a ruler just troubles, indeed. And it might not be prudent to give you so much power, you could start to like it more than you like me.

May it be? I don't know, I hope no. But I said nothing, just looked at him with compassion.

– Yeah, alright, in the end everything was resolved in the best way. Russia can live very well from the memories of former glory – he muttered, getting up and going to a cabinet that was in the room. He took a bottle of vodka and left.

After a while, I saw him by the window, walking slowly by the melted snow.

* * *

1. The simple eye of insects and some other invertebrates, consisting basically of light-sensitive cells.

2. Well, right.

3. I apologize again with the fans of Twilight.

4. A medieval head adornment.

5. Daughter of a czar, equivalent to princess. The masculine is "czarevich".

6. A bit of Russian History, which, in fact, starts in the current Ukraine, with some Sweden Vikings which came down the Volga river to sell things among the Slavs. The first Russian kings, in the city of Kiev, were those Vikings. Olga Prekrasna (890-969), that is, Olga the Beauty, was descendant of one of them and married a Slav prince, becoming the first female ruler of Russia, yet she was but a regent, while her son was a kid. She was also one of the first Christians in Russia and was beatified by the Orthodox Church. As for Anastasia, yes, is the girl of Disney's movie, the youngest daughter of the last czar, Nicolai II Romanov. They were the royal family dethroned by the Russian Revolution in 1917. But she's not alive, lost somewhere, no, she was executed with all her family in 1918: Eles foram a família real derrubada por ocasião da Revolução Russa de 1917. Mas ela não está viva perdida por aí, não, foi executada, com toda a sua família, em 1918.

7. Ivan, the Terrible. One of the most dreading rulers of Russia, the first to hold the title of czar (Caesar). Ivan, o Terrível. Um dos governantes mais sinistros da Rússia, o primeiro a usar o título de czar (césar). Highly bipolar, the legends about his cruelty are gigantic, and it is said that at night he could not sleep, doing penance. It's also said that, if I'm not wrong, he ordered to pierce the eyes of the people that build the Saint Basil's Cathedral, that very coloured church that appears every time someone is talking about Moscow, so that they could not make another work as beautiful as it. There's a book about him, the author is Aleksey Tolstoy, and also a movie.

8. Priest of the Orthodox Church.

9. Vladimir Putin, current president of Russia. A peculiar person, by the way.

10 Google her!

11. The dress that Belarus wears was a gift of Russia long ago, that's why she won't change it, even if it's old and small (according to hear profile in Kitawiki). But I'm sure he would give her all the dresses in the world if this would make her let him alone. ;)

12. No.

13. Catherine II, the Great, was czarina of Russia between the years of 1762 and 1796. Her real name was Sophie Friederike Auguste von Anhalt-Zerbst. Although she was despotic, she expanded greatly the Russian Empire, increased its administration and modernized it, making of Russia a great world power.

14. I hate you.


	16. Homesickness

Russia came back that night, dirty, drunken and disheveled. He didn't talk with me, not even in the two next days, but in the third he woke up tender and kind as always. It seemed that he had no recollection of the episode of the Frustrated Empire Restoration, so to speak. He does not hold grudges. Actually, that was what I thought, noting how countries that were enemies until yesterday firmed alliance today, and even joined their territories tomorrow. Estonia, however, explained to me that things were a little different.

– We countries are different from the humans – he said. – We can even like each other, but we don't unite out of affection, only out of interest. Mostly economical or military interested. On the other hand, the hatred is more determinative between us; we can beat each other for idiot affronts, with no deep reasons. I hoped we had become more civilized after the traumas of the past century – Eduard commented – but at the light of the recent happenings, I think I was wrong.

– It's hard to me understand that – I said, after a moment. – Not that the humans don't unite out of interest, haha, you wish – I considered, bitterly. – In fact, this also happens to be the majority, but sometimes the… the love is enough.

– Because you are only one person – Latvia opined shyly. I was with the Baltics in the kitchen in that day. – We are many.

– With dozens of different ideologies, although there's some uniformity that keep us entire and defines our main characteristics – Estonia completed. He smiled ruefully. – You can't imagine the personality conflicts that this causes in us.

– Uff, I believe – I said, impressed, arching my eyebrows. If I had so many internal disputes myself, between reason and emotion, for example… A population! I can imagine. This most surely could explain the vein of madness that one could identify in each and every country that I had met, no exceptions.

Well, I always knew about Russia's problems, and it never stopped me from liking him. I had been there for a long time already, as he underlined to his sisters, but there was always more to discover about him and about the things and people that surrounded him. That's how another year passed, and I didn't notice; the ponds were replaced by crops and flowers, the mood of Russia got better again, we spent more white nights talking, and in that eternal cycle, the birches got naked and the snow came back.

Comfortably sat in a room with a fireplace in the second floor, I was reading. It was the end of the afternoon, and Russia came into the room, scrubbing his hands.

– Daughter of Brazil, you're exactly who I need now! – Ivan exclaimed, approaching the fireplace and warming his gloved hands. Then he sat down on the couch and pulled me onto his lap. – I was sweeping the snow with Estonia. I'm chilled to the bones, and you remind me of a warm place with sunflowers. Even your hair smell like sunflowers! – I could have told it was because of the only shampoo that I had to use in his house, but I decided to let him enjoy the illusion that it was natural. Let the boy be happy. – Are there sunflowers in Brazil? – he asked, with a muffled voice, because he had hidden his face in my (considerable) mane.

– There must be – I answered, unconcernedly. – Plants are not lacking there.

– Tell me things about your country, Erika – he asked, quietly.

– I'm reading now, Vanya.

– And what are you reading? – he peeked at my book.

– Pushkin. _Evgenyi Onegin__**[1]**_.

– I know it by heart – Ivan boasted. – Shall I recite it to you? – I nodded. He took the poem. – Only after you tell me more about Brazil – he said then laughing, and lifting the book out of my reach.

I had to give in to this cleverness. I cuddled better on his knees and delivered myself to the reminiscences while playing with the tips of that and smooth light hair.

– Brazil is big – I said. – Naturally, not as big as you, but it has a good size. The people are very different from each other, depending on the state or region, different even in the appearance. But deep down they're all kindda roguish, lazy, somehow similar to Italy. They let everything for the last minute, and solve things the problems in the most exquisite ways. In the end it causes thrice more trouble than if they had made the thing by the right way. And even the most antisocial of us… like me, for example… can be nice and amiable towards the people they like. And we're completely in love with foreigners, generally we like them better than we like other Brazilians.

– I already like the people – Ivan whispered. – I want you to tell me about the place.

– I do not know all the beautiful places in Brazil. Just a little of the south and southeast. There are so many beaches, most people live on the coast. I do not really like beaches, but the sea is an amazing thing. And there are rivers and lakes that aren't yet damaged, and are pretty crystalline. There are many waterfalls. Plants are not lacking. Remember how they wanted to invade the Amazon? No one knows how many species of trees, herbs, flowers, fruits or animals are there. And there are still Indians living naked in the villages, but it is too far, I do not know well enough to tell you. Most trees in Brazil do not lose their leaves in the fall, are green all year round. Also, there are very few places where, from time to time, it snows there. Our winter is a joke to you, General Winter does not know us. But summer is a big killer.

I kept telling random facts about my country, about the food, the music, answering his questions. I had already told him some of these things at other times. Despite I was not very excited with this conversation at the beginning, the memories came to me with that nice smell of old times, and that made the atmosphere even more cozy.

– We have to visit Brazil someday – said Russia, at last, awaking from whichever fantasies had formed in his mind from my narrative. I lifted my face to him.

– Visit? – I asked, ironically. – I used to live there.

Ivan didn't answer; he kissed me. And then, arranging me more comfortably on his knees, he began to recite in his deep and sweet voice:

– _My uncle - high ideals inspire him;_

_but when past joking he fell sick,_

_he really forced one to admire him –_

_and never played a shrewder trick._

If I research in my memory, I'll hardly find days as pleasant as this, listening to Pushkin by the fireplace, in the warm and strong arms of my darling Russia. However, do you know when the most complete happiness is not enough to you? Do you know when it seems that there is, in a piece of your heart with the size of a pinkie finger's nail, the acute sensation of a bee sting? It was named, I discovered if after, "homesickness".

* * *

[1] The novel in verse "Eugene Oneguin" is indeed one of the favorite books of the Russians, even those who dislike Russian literature in general appreciate Pushkin. Ever notice that the text is a bit intricate. I have not read, because I didn't find it in Portuguese, nor the Internet! And between reading in English and in the original, I'd rather hold out a little longer and sharpen my Russian to enjoy the book in its own language.


	17. Incorrigible

Nostalgia is a strange thing. You started missing the things you liked; with the evolution of the symptoms, you may start to yearn for the ones you hated. That's how, when the summer came again, that Russian mild heat wasn't enough for me anymore; I wanted the murderer sun of Itajaí, where I passed the largest part of my life running from the attacks of solar rays that persecuted me from (rare) tree shadow to (rarer) tree shadow by the street, despising any sun blocker and trying to pierce my skin, my flesh, and even the bones if they could.

To appease the homesickness, I started to search things that that recalled Brazil. I read every (little) books of our literature that I could find in Russia's shelves, even Machado de Assis[1]. Once I made a kite and took Russia to put it to fly with me. He did very well, even better than I, but the kite got stuck in a tree; he pulled slightly to release it, and the tree fell down. Then we decided to drop the hobby.

I still loved to spend time in his company. On the other hand, the weight of the homesickness was letting me techier, intolerant, and some things he used to do, which I rebuked tenderly before, now I reproached surly. And, as a rebel kid, he would go and make it worse. Then you could say things were a under pressure between us, yet we appreciated each other as always.

As I didn't like to fight with him, and I think he also didn't like it, in the moments when one of us was snappish, I would go away and start a chat with any of the other countries that worked in his house. I became friends with the majority of them, including Chechnya, although she wasn't really the talkative type. But if you show interest for a country, without coming with three hundred stereotypes in the left hand and two hundred prejudices in the right, well, they sympathize with you. Then she would bore me, since I came to see her without Russia around.

In that exemplarily hot day, I was in the kitchen helping with the lunch; maybe to keep near the hoven, in that masochist attack of mine that wanted to make me feel more heat. Then I remembered of Russia with a pang of affection and decided to go after him.

Sitting on the porch, in a rocking chair, he was gazing at the horizon. Probably meditating about the life, the universe and everything else; from time to time he would dive into these meditative states, and his deep thoughts would reflect in his face and borrow him a noble beauty. But you can ignore this last comment.

I took place in a wooden stool nearby, and sat there observing him for a while. But I had brought a tray, and needed to get rid of it.

– Hello, Vanya! Is everything right with you?

He woke up and looked around. Spotting me, he smiled.

– Yes, yes. Except for this heat from hell – he added, trying to fan himself with the hand. – Looks like my skin is going to fall, the very air is burning! Have you ever seen something like that?

– I've seen worse – I laughed.

– Where were you?

– In the kitchen, teaching Kazak to cook a feijoada. He sent you this juice – I said, supporting the tray on the balcony's fence and serving a glass for him and another for me.

– God bless him! – exclaimed Russia, engulfing almost the entire glass in one gulp. – Remind me to thank him later. What is 'feijoada'?

– A Brazilian dish.

– Ah. Is it good?

– Yes, a lot. But we couldn't make it because we didn't have the ingredients. Is there a place where we could find pork, nearby? – I asked.

– Any Germany grocery – Russia shrugged. – If they don't have it in stock, bring the owner, it'll serve[2] – he joked. I could not suppress a smile, despite it being a very black humor. He poked me and I started to laugh even more, and everything was fine, until we heard a huge noise – roaring, cried, and the sound of something being shaken. Russia's expression hadn't changed an inch; I, however, got scared, especially because:

– What was that? – I exclaimed. – It seemed the voice of Lithuania! Is he in some kind of trouble? On second thought, I have not seen him for a good half hour...

– Oh, I told him and the others to go feed my bears – Ivan explained, unconcernedly.

– But they're used to do that; I don't understand why the ado – I said. In fact, Russia's pet bears were trained; even I had fed them with no fear of being attacked. I wasn't more afraid of them than I was of their owner.

– Just that the animals haven't eaten for four days… – he told, with an evil smile. Oops, that changed everything, that there was no training that worked in this situation, the boys had to get out of there immediately, and throw the food over the fence, lest the beasts would not distinguish between food and feeder. I looked toward the backyard where the bears were; it was a great space, a kind of fenced forest. The wooden gate was swinging, but the Baltics wouldn't come out.

- And why they still didn't run away from there? – I questioned, alarmed and angry now because I realized that Russia had done it on purpose.

– Because I locked the door from the outside – he confessed, with a cruel laugh.

– You heartless! – I blew up, jumping to my feet. By then, Armenia and Tajikistan, who were in the yard, had heard the cries of the Baltics and gone to free them. – No wonder that when England invokes the forces of evil, you appear! They could have been EATEN! You don't think about the consequences? Wow, they're here every day, serving you, helping you in the greatest difficulties, and your gratitude to them is _that_? What for such senseless violence?!

– It was just a prank – Russia said, bewildered with my reaction.

– You and your pranks! You never evaluate anything, you never measure, in one of these pranks you will end up destroying the whole house, including yourself. I'm sick of your inconsequence, _Rossiyskaya Federatsiya__**[3]**_; I give up trying to change you! I throw in the towel! You're incorrigible; you'll never be someone better! – I cried. – I'm done. I'm leaving right now.

Russia stood up, pale.

– How is that, you're leaving? – he asked, quietly.

You see, I am a person who does not explode easily. Then the explosion is large ... and quick. My anger had not gone at all, but it was not enough to propel me anymore. My courage was deflating like a balloon. I just repeated.

– I'm leaving.

– No you won't. You said you will stay here forever, don't you remember? – he said, calmly. A vague memory popped into my mind.

– But I was drunk. It doesn't count – I said desperately.

– Why not? I spend a lot of time drunken and I don't oppose it as an excuse to renege my promises – Ivan remained calm, because for him that logic was fatal.

– It's different... – I whimpered, losing heart completely. – I have to go, Russia. I want to go home. I miss my family, my friends, everything and everyone there. Farewell.

Troubled, I turned my back to him and walked down the porch steps. Latvia, Lithuania and the others came approaching; the Baltics with their clothes torn, bleeding here and there, and the expression of someone whose heart would jump from the mouth anytime now.

– You're going nowhere – Russia said. – You don't know the way. And I FORBID everyone here to teach her – he vociferated, raising his voice. For the other's faces, I was sure that they would obey.

– Who cares, I find it by my own – I spat, angry, over my shoulder, and continued to walk.

– I said you are going nowhere – he repeated, cold, and I felt iron hands grab my arms. It was Armenia and Lithuania; he hadn't the guts to face me. – You will not leave here without my order. Sorry, Erika, but you made a promise, and will perform it, by hook or by crook.

I stared at Russia. Still with that naive face and friendly smile, good God, did he really believe he was doing the right thing?! And now Estonia came with an anklet equal to that used by Chechnya, and also without looking up at me, he bound it to my foot.

– It's better this way, Erika, you will see – Latvia consoled, landing shyly his hand on my shoulder. – It's for your own good, you'll see.

"Cowards", I thought, "You really deserve what you go through". The silence was terrible, and I loathed the Baltics, and all the crazy people around me.

But, in the end, I also submitted.

* * *

[1] The most famous (and most boring, in the opinion of the majority of students) Brazilian classic writer.

[2] German people who read it, sorry for the gross joke, but keep in mind that in the fanfic, Germany had recently held a war against Russia, so Ivan is not in the best of moods towards Ludwig and his people. And no, I wouldn't need to Ludwig's house to find the grocery. There are many Germans in Russia, Russian-Germans, or Bessarabian Germans. Some people discussed if they can still be considered Russian-Germans after 1917. They were never very loved there, especially after the WW2. Unhappily, due to this war, there is still some prejudice in Russia (mostly among the old people); according to which everybody that even speaks German is considered potentially Nazi.

[3] Russian Federation (read Rassi**YS**kaya Fede**RA**tsiya). When moms are angry, they call us by the whole name; that was the closest I could go. Simply "Ivan Braginski" wouldn't bring the same effect; maybe if I knew his patronymic...


	18. Ya Vernus'

Do you know that story about a bird that would always come to sing to the emperor at night, until the day when the emperor decided to put it in a cage, and then he wouldn't sing anymore? I also don't, for that's not how the story is[1]. But it should be, because that's exactly how I felt in the following days.

I would be unfair if I said that Russia didn't double his care towards me, trying to make me forget the chain belt in my foot and recover my vigor. But it wouldn't work, how should it? I loved him while I was her friend, but as a slave… it is asking too much. One day I told him that.

In another occasion, after trying by all means to cheer me up, unsuccessfully, he started to cry. In fact he had already consumed a good amount of vodka and that helped. I was sorry, but the piece of iron on my foot stopped me to comfort him.

Until one day, still in summer, I woke up without that. It was broken by the bedpost. And immediately, my heart was light, and somersaulted in a wave of tenderness for Ivan.

I ran, joyful, to the kitchen. It was too early, but the house was already full of movement. At the breakfast table, Russia was playing with a piece of black bread. I jumped to his neck, hugging him with a force of Belarus. He smiled at me, his eyes were wet, and this time he didn't smell like vodka.

– Today you go away, Erika – he said, in his sweet and calm voice. – Of course, if you still want to – he added, hopeful, but not much. I had a shock; for a moment, I had forgotten about that. What now? I could stay a little longer... But Ivan was so moody, what if he changed his mind again? I needed to grab the opportunity.

– Yes, I want – I said then, meekly, still holding him. He sighed.

– Good, eat right. We have a short walk ahead. After, Lithuania will take you to the upper floor for you to put the clothes you got here with. Unfortunately, you will not be able to take nothing else; nothing passes from this world to the other, except ideas.

I obeyed. We talked casually during the breakfast, we, the Baltics, and two other countries that were there, as people do when there is a serious issue that no one wants to think of. We begin to talk about the weather and make jokes about inconsequential things around.

After, I climbed the stairs with Lithuania. He was still very shy with me, ashamed since the sad occasion told in the last chapter. When I changed my clothes and left the room, he told me, before we went down again:

– Erika, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for not having supported you in that day, what happens is that I'm so… you know – once bitten, twice shy... I don't… I should have… – I placed one finger in front of his mouth.

– Okay. No one is iron, Toris. And it's over. We're still friends – I hugged him, giving him a kiss on his nose. – Take good care of Vanya for me. And try to conquer Belarus' heart, so she'll leave him alone.

He laughed. Estonia and Latvia were waiting us at the bottom of the stairs; I hugged them strongly, thanking for everything they had done for me there. We came back to the others, which were gathered together in a wide room near to the entrance of the house, the very room where Russia had planned with me my coronation, before the arrival of his friends. I said goodbye to each; I had familiarized with them, and became fond of them too. Chechnya, by the way, was crying – a very noisy Arabic lament – for see me go.

– Well, let's sit down! – Ivan exclaimed. We obeyed. It's an old Russian custom, sit for a while before a journey, so that it may be a calm travel[2].

After a moment, Ivan and I stood up. I waved at the others with a smile, and followed Russia.

He took my hand, and we went away from the house. We kept silence for a while, until he spoke.

– I wanted you to stay because you makes me happy – Ivan started. I opened my mouth to reply, but he went on, surprising me with his words. – But I thought and I saw that i_you/i _were not happy, and it wasn't fair to force you to change the warm house of your father for i_this/i_.

– It's not the point, Ivan, I don't even like the heat of my fatherland. It's just… it _is_ my fatherland, understand? Did you never miss Mother Russia?

– _Konetchno__**[3]**_ – he smiled, reassuring me and making it increasingly difficult for me to leave him. I was completely divided. But if I do not leave now, when the opportunity whould arise again?

– Now – he said, after a while – you said another thing too. That I would never be a better person… well, a better country. I want you to know that it isn't truth.

– Of course not, I... – I started to apologize, but he shut my mouth with a gesture.

– I know you wanted me to... change in some things, for my sake. And you were sad because you thought I never listened to you. But I did, yes, Erika. I remember everything you said and did for me, and sometimes I try to follow your advices. If you do not believe me, ask Lithuania, or one of the others. But I happen to be a country. Now if it's time consuming for a person undergoing a real change, imagine for us? It may take centuries, many times your lifetime. And this is another reason why I decided to let you go. Sooner or later I was going to lose you anyway. Other people will come, and they will also care for me and help me a bit. In the end, I'll let you all proud, you will see.

We had stopped. We were already far away, in the middle of a heath, and the golden wheat was rippling in the wind. I had tears in my eyes.

– I'll never forget you, Ivan – I babbled, huskily.

– Me neither, believe it – he answered, smiling. At this point, I had already learned to read that deadpan smile, and noticed he was a little sad, but he would overcome it.

– _Ya vernus'!__**[4]**_ – I promised, wiping away my tears. – I come back, I swear! Maybe not up here, but I will definitely visit Mother Russia in my world.

– _Da, ya znayu_[5] – he replied, serenely, and, on an impulse, I hugged him with all my strength. I heard his merry and childish laugh, and suddenly his body dissolved into mist in my arms, as well as everything around...

* * *

[1] I refer to the tale "The Nightingale" by Hans Christian Andersen.

[2] It can be seen in the book "War and Peace", by Tolstoy, and in songs that refer to Russian culture, like "Birches", by Lyube.

[3] Of course.

[4] I will come back!

[5] Yes, I know.


	19. Epilogue

Next thing I knew, I was hunched over the computer keyboard, and in the screen, the warning "Do you want to turn off your computer?"

I sighed. I was already missing him. Ivan had been sincere when he said he was changing; whilom, he would never follow someone else's will instead of his, nevermind if the whole world was unhappy with it.

"It's really a shame that he does not exist," I thought, sighing again. "You will live forever in my imagination and in my heart, Ivan Bragisnki" I muttered to myself, in a tone almost melodramatic. Thankfully no one was around. "But... _there are_ Russians, and by the way they are very friendly, "my head turned, and I smiled.

I pressed "No" to the warning of the computer, and logged in to a Russian social net in which I have an account. There were some friends online. I called one of my favorites.

"_Privet, Vasya!_"

"_Privet, Erika! Kak ty?_"[1], he answered, with a smiley emoticon.

Yeah. Definitely, one can be happy in this world too.

* * *

[1] "Hi, Erika! How (are) you?". The verb to be is ommited in the present tense in Russian.

* * *

**Final notes:**

That's it! :) Thanks to everyone who came following the fic, thanks for the patience we had with the long times I spent without posting anything, thanks to those who have commented and favorited, special mention Cerene Micol, who encouraged me with several reviews.  
Would my ghost readers reveal themselves for a final comment, an assessment of the history, pros and cons? ... And if they feel worthy, can also fav it, I hope I've done to deserve it!

Snowy kisses for all and I invite those who know Portuguese to read the (sort of) continuation of this story, which I write with my friend Remmirath, "Waffenstillstand? Da, peremirie ...". You can find it in this site. If you would like to, I may try to translate it to English as I have being doing with this one. Ask in the reviews. If I get a good number of requests, I know it'll be worthy (because it's big deal of work!).

A thousand thanks again, and goodbye!


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